Come to Parkside Villas, a nice apartment complex on the upscale side of Las Vegas. At the moment the sun is down and the lights from the villas shine of the pool creating a watery cascade of light in the foreground. From one of the buildings a figure emerges. While he is cast in shadow thanks to the lights behind him, the posture and walk of this man are unmistakable, this is Blade Alexander. He makes his way, shoving his keys into his pocket as he goes, to a limo which is waiting at the curbside. As he walks the camera rushes over to him, as he reaches the limo the camera turns to the door which opens to reveal the bright interior and none other than wrestling's finest manager, Mercedes sitting inside. She's dressed in a form-fit black business top with white sleeves and collar matched with a short black skirt which promises a glimpse at what it is intended to cover without ever delivering on that promise, but if you could manage to tear your eyes for a moment away from an area you're picturing mentally right now, you'd see she's also wearing shades, and more importantly, beside her on the seat rests the very briefcase from last week's Climax Control.
Mercedes: Hey.
Blade: Hey.
He steps into the limo, sitting across from her in the middle of the seat, and as she picks up the briefcase to slide over and let the camera in, we see he's wearing a black pinstripe suit with matching vest and mirrored aviator shades.
Mercedes: I've looked it over and it's pretty interesting.
Blade: How interesting?
Mercedes: Very interesting. Like we should hold on to this as an insurance policy for an eventuality kind of interesting.
Blade: Good. Keep it in a safe place.
Mercedes: Now what about the upcoming supercard?
Blade: I'm not worried, I'm just a bit pissed.
Mercedes: Pissed?
Blade: Ugh, how the fuck could I not be? Last week I had my hands on that Underwood. He was right where I wanted him, my grip was tightening around his neck. I was going to shut him up for good, then management, in their fucking perpetual protection of the great white bore, changed everything up at the last minute, made all of those crazy gimmick matches and instead of having the opportunity to pin him and move on, I had to settle for beating that idiot up in a Haunted House match. Now the kid is running his mouth like we're somehow even and I can't beat him and every other loser fucking self-esteem raising rhetoric he can think of to bolster his spirits after I embarrassed him. The part that pisses me off is that just as soon as they announced that I was finally going to shut that moron up for good, he got a stay of execution once again and at High Stakes, what was going to be me beating him senseless one on one has been changed to a tag team match where he's got that Hawaiian guy, and I have to be saddled with that football loser yet again.
Mercedes: Well you weren't really with him before...
Blade: He still found a way to bring me down though.
He stares out the window at the lights flashing by as they drive.
Mercedes: You're brooding.
Blade: It's what I do. You would too given the situation.
Mercedes: Maybe.
Blade: No maybe about it. Think about it. This is a night where the SCW Championship is going to be decided. I'm going to make it through this tag match, I'm going into the gauntlet, and I'm going to walk out as the SCW Champion, but I fucking HATE to be forced to jump through these bullshit hoops. Not only do I have to suffer through a gauntlet with a bunch of losers who no one remembers, but I've got to face to wrestlers while I carry a retarded juice monkey on my back.
Mercedes: Don't tell me you're going soft, talking nice about Underwood and Maoi.
Blade: It's not soft. I don't like either of those morons. JT Underwood is the single most boring person in the history of the human race and I'm pretty sure Maoi is such a moron that he has to have his siblings around just to get his boots tied, but at least those two have some fucking respect for this sport. Underwood, like him or not, wants to be the best wrestler in the world and he works his ass off at it. Sure he's a complete disaster and even though he's got all his relatives trying to give him every fucking break possible in SCW but he keeps failing at every opportunity, but at least he tries.
Then you've got Maoi. Here's a guy out in Hawaii doing charity work like he's representing SCW when we don't even have TV there, but at least he tries. He's got a wrestling family. He wants to get in the ring and prove himself. At least that I can respect.
What I don't fucking respect is some sweaty 'roided up freak who was a complete failure at his dream in the NFL, shit the bed in the CFL yet STILL expects to just walk right the fuck into SCW and reign supreme over every one and every thing. The guy makes me sick to even see. There's no god-damned way he should ever be allowed into the same dressing room with the likes of an Alexander, but no, this complete failure and Surreal Life wannabe is somehow going to bring name recognition to SCW. What the fuck does Ward even see in this guy when he can't even get recognized in a gym. He's such a failure and embarrassment that the people who should know him wont admit to it for fear of ridicule from their friends and loved ones.
Mercedes: That's what I love about you. Opinionated about everything all the time. The perfect attitude for a pro-wrestler. You really shouldn't worry, you've got this all covered.
Blade: I'm never worried, I'm just excited.
Several hours later, maybe even the next day. This time we've got a big banner advertising SCW's first supercard: Climax Control: High Stakes. While the card obviously advertises the title matches, it also prominently features the undercard matches highlighting the tag team match between Blade Alexander with DJ Williams against JT Underwood and Maoi. Alexander and Underwood have their names in larger lettering and are the featured image while under them in small text are their respective partners names and images.
Blade: That's very telling isn't it?
Blade steps into view in front of the banner. He's still wearing the aviator shades from before, but this time they're coupled with a blue and black bandana, and instead of an upscale suit he's dressed far more casually in a Bad Religion t-shirt and faded jeans. He takes a sip of the water bottle he's carrying before he continues.
Blade: Take a good look at that poster. SCW really knows how to sell don't they? You look at that and some very telling things about the promotion jump out. They're selling the titles of course, but look at the match. They know who draws already in SCW. Sure the suits keep pushing Underwood and why not? They think that big tattooed douche bag of the month is their big hope for the future. Look at that dull, simpleton expression in that face. Look into those eyes. There's no one home. They love that. They can sell that. They can control that. He's theirs, lock stock and barrel. He's claimed to have success elsewhere, but without his family and his manages family to watch his back, his boring routine gets lost in the shuffle. What's so great, what's so different about him really? He lack any real emotion in his delivery and quite frankly, who could connect to that as a person?
What do any of those tattoos even mean JT? Don't try to tell me they have some sort of significance to you, it's just random tribal crap that you picked out of a book. Ask Maoi what they mean when you guys are getting ready for our match. Tell him the truth too, warrior, don't pussy out and try to tell him they mean courage or honor or any of that hollow bullshit you guys pretend to live by. Tell him honestly, what he thinks are some bad-ass symbols of his bad-ass courage are really just the scribblings of a retard.
And Maoi, really thanks for showing up moron. What's your deal? Your tattoos might actually mean something, but I'll be damned if it's anything more than 'pansy' or 'rapist', because you have rape face. Honestly. You have the face of someone who enjoys raping people. What was it you were saying the other day? I honestly can't remember because you're pretty fucking forgettable. Here's an idea, because you're such a loser, your partner is a loser, and my partner is a complete waste of meat-sack, why don't the three of you join up, bring all 957 of your so-called wrestling relatives and bring them all to High Stakes and actually make it a fair match? Sound good.
He starts to pace.
Blade: And while I'm on High Stakes, how about that partner of mine. He might show up, he might not. He could be to busy sweating in a gym. Him and JT both... Guys, seriously? The sweating gym promo? How very late 70's of you. Underwood, what's your excuse? DJ at least has the whole 'I'm a fucking idiot so I don't know what I'm doing' thing going for him, but you're supposed to be related to people in this business. You like to think you're good. You have a god-damned manager for christ sake. Don't do the gym promo any more, it's just... gross.
I will say I did quite enjoy the other week when DJ Williams did his whole thing though. Very poetic. Not his whole sweating on camera like a beast of burden and using the sort of douche-lingo you'd expect from Underwood. Not even his beefeater rant where he turned stereo-typical gym bully on a fat girl. What I thought was the most entertaining thing about something that really had no business being entertaining at all was how he went on and on about that girl not fitting in and how she shouldn't be there while the whole fucking time he had no idea that the whole rant was a perfect fucking metaphor for him in SCW.
He stops in the middle of the screen and looks into the camera again.
Blade: Seeing as how you've already proven that you don't know what a metaphor is JT Underwood, you can use the next few minutes to go play with your Lego in the corner. Build something nice.
Back to D-Block. Speaking of people who don't fit in, you need to take a good hard look in the mirror you fuck-stain. Look at yourself, then look at the other people around you, then look back at yourself again. Which of these things is not like the others? Which of these things just doesn't belong. Get fucking real, loser. You come here looking to get back into football? When has that EVER worked out well? I know, you thought with all your big bulgy muscles you could just walk into a wrestling ring, throw people around, and be king shit in Las Vegas. You've got your fucking reality check shit-stain and you're too stupid to even know it. You think you're as good at this as I am? Bitch please. I am wrestling.
Be a good stupid shit and listen to your little manager. Listen to him tell you the things you want to hear, not what you need to hear. That's why your career has come to this. You were kicked out of the NFL for being a low-life scum-sucking shitbag so you went to the CFL. You got yourself not only kicked out of the CFL but kicked out of the nicest country on earth because you were an untalented hack who wasn't fit to carry the memory of Doug Flutie's jock strap. If you don't know who that is then look it up.
So now you've come to SCW Williams and you've got a kiss ass sycophant manager who's going to make sure that not only will you never make it back to SCW, but your career is finally going to die right here, but he's probably too much of a panty-waisted loser to tell you that it's going to die because you had the audacity to ever think you belonged in the ring with me. A few weeks ago you proved it. You're so god-damned green that you don't know the difference between a wrist lock and a wrist watch. I knew more about this business before I could walk than you'll ever know. Don't come into High Stakes thinking you'll turn things around. Don't come in thinking you've got a chance to walk out champion. No one does. I'm walking out as champion, it's as simple as that. But before we even get that far I'm going to do the meanest thing I could ever think of doing to my opponents and the nicest thing possible to you, even though you wont know it.
I'm going to tag you into our match. I'm going to tag you in and I'm going to leave you there. I'm going to let Maoi and Underwood do their worst. I'm going to let them build up their confidence bit by bit by destroying you so utterly that you get on your knees and you fucking BEG like the dog you are to tag out. Then I'm going to do it. I'm going to tag in and I'm going to mount the heroic comeback, and right when I have them where I want them I'm going to pull the rug out from underneath you. I'm going to tag you back in Williams, and I'm going to stand there on the apron with a look of haughty derision on my face as you blunder through what you consider to be a finishing move, only to have it reverse by our opponents and get yourself pinned.
Then when the Gauntlet comes and you step into that ring I'm going to show you and everyone else, including that JT Underwood what a real wrestling legacy is and become the first SCW Champion.
He slowly slides his big shades up, resting them on his head.
Blade: I'd like to say it'll end there but that's not all is it? I was promised the one thing that's been sorely lacking so far in SCW and that's competition. I was promised a big time signing of someone who's supposed to be oh-so-good coming to High Stakes to address me personally. Well this had better be good. There's nothing I hate more than to be promised the world, to have so much built up only to be sorely disappointed in the end. When SCW management finally promises to bring in someone with some name brand recognition to face me, they better deliver. Ask around. This city knows what's what. Ask the fans before the next show what happens when I'm promised something and it's not delivered. Ask what happens when self-proclaimed big names step into the ring to face me. Short drop, bad landing.
But you know what boggles my mind the most? You know what I find the most burning indictment of the collective intelligence in SCW yet? There isn't a single one of you that has asked the big question, the real burning question in SCW today. None of you has had the brain cells to rub together and wonder... What's in the case?
He bends over and picks up the briefcase that was in the limo earlier, the same briefcase he walked out of Climax Control with.
Blade: Do none of you idiots seriously not get it? This is professional fucking wrestling. When is a briefcase just a briefcase? Never, that's when. The burning question that everyone in SCW should be asking themselves and each other right now isn't who's going to be the champ, that one is too obvious. The rest of you really need to start wondering... What's in the case?
Fade.
