There hangs an SCW banner. It's a nice little logo for an indy fed really. The roulette board and poker chip are evocative of the fed's home in Las Vegas. Standing in front of it is a lady the the SCW fans know well, and the world at large, thanks to the NWA are just meeting for the first time. She's more evocative of a teenager's boner than anything else.
Ms Rocky Mountains: “Ladies and gentlemen of the wrestling world, I'm pleased as punch right now to be standing in front of you all to get this opportunity to be a part of SCW and host the NWA pay per view WrestleClassic. I'm just so happy I've been asked here to be a part of this and...”
Blade Alexander: “Why don't you just get the fuck on with it, do your job, and introduce me already.”
The hostess, dressed in her Nevada best, a short black sequin designer black looks on in shock and a bit of humility as she's elbowed aside by by one half of SCW's feature match for the upcoming pay per view in Blade Alexander.
Blade: “Look Tits, you're here to smile and look pretty for the camera and hold the microphone while you pull the top of that dress down a little bit. Pull that skirt hem up too. You're here to look fucking cute and draw in some of those puberty buys for the NWA so they think that SCW can actually get people to pay for it's product. Do your fucking job.”
He slowly slides the large aviator shades of his face and hangs them in the right front pocket of the charcoal vest he's wearing before decides to address the camera.
Blade: “For far too long I've just sat back and gone with the flow, don't be stupid and think that now that I have the opportunity, I'm going to waste it being the good little boy I've played for the last couple months.”
Ms. Mountains: “That was you being good?”
Blade: “You're god-damned right it was. I've bit my tongue while I've watched some of the dumbest shit in wrestling go on, and you'd be every bit as dumb as you fucking look if you thought that now that I had this global platform I'd waste in on a bunch of crap about just beating Nick Jones.”
“Don't worry though, I'll get to Jones in my own good fucking time.”
He smirks and runs his hands through his once again bleached blonde locks.
Blade: “I've taken it all. I've taken it all in stride. But don't forget who first got SCW noticed. We didn't get asked to be part of the NWA because I sat around like everyone else playing fantasy detective with a god-damned teddy bear. We didn't get the chance to host an NWA pay per view our very first time around because I spent many a long night behind closed doors playing politician or whatever the kids are calling it these days with Mark Ward. We got here because someone had the balls to speak their fucking mind and the talent to walk to the ring every night and back it up.”
“I'm sick and tired of sitting around as part of SCW and eating whatever proverbial shit they were going to try to feed me like a good little employee. That's not how I got hired. I got hired because I speak my mind and I don't care who thinks what about it.”
Ms Mountains: “That's exactly the kind of attitude that could get you in a lot of trouble with a lot of people.”
Blade: “Seriously? Are you actually fucking retarded?”
Ms Mountains: “Now Blade, that's not very PC...”
Blade: “Fuck PC. Being politically correct doesn't get you shit. This is professional fucking wrestling! When the hell did the rest of the world forget that? You don't sit back and act nice. You spit fucking acid, then when someone wants to bitch about it and has a problem with it you go down to the ring and you collapse their skull and ask if anyone else has a problem. You don't drop your title belt at the first sign of trouble and have your manager drive the get away car so you can both skip town.”
Ms Mountains: “Is that some sort of veiled reference to your former WrestleClassic opponent, JT Underwood?”
Blade: “Duh.”
He shakes his head and starts to roll up the sleeves on his finely made white dress shirt while Ms Rocky Mountain's cheeks glow an embarrassed shade of red.
Blade: “There's no veil to it you dumb bitch. It's pretty god-damned clear. Something didn't go Underwood's way so he took his ball and ran the fuck away. If you listen to some people it's because he was scared of them, but they're full of shit. No one gets scared of anyone who gets opportunity handed to them simply by way of being in the right place at the right time. Meanwhile I get the gag order while our little WrestleClassic match, the most important match in the history of SCW, gets juggled around time and time again. It's bullshit. It's instability, and it's fucking weak. I've been here since day one ready to carry SCW on my back but all I get is endless subterfuge thrown in the way to confound me.”
Ms Mountains: “Is it confounding though, or is it just that you can't actually handle carrying the company?”
Showing tremendous amounts of personal restraint, Blade doesn't spit in her face.
Blade: “Fuck. That's how dumb you are. You're so dumb you make everyone and everything around you dumber.”
“Confounding, you moron, because while they claim they're digging up competition for me, they're purposely keeping me from it. A few months ago the Seven Deadly Idiots brought one of their own, Rage, into the fold. He was going to be this big powerhouse who'd take me out. What he actually managed to do was jump me from the crowd, deliver a beat down, and keep me from winning the SCW Title when I should have. How am I rewarded for this little sabotage? Let's see... Did I get option A, a chance to get my hands on Rage by facing him in the ring? No. He ran and hid like a bitch behind Christian Underwood's skirt. The closest I got was in some stupid wild card tag team tournament which his team won, thanks to me being teamed with a guy so fucking strung out from the juice that he forgot the keys to victory were to try to win the match and to do so by leaving your fucking partner alone.”
“So thanks for that. But then there's always option B right? A match for the SCW Championship, which instead went to the esteemed Mr. Chickenshit who would eventually skip town.”
Ms Mountains: “But you're getting that Championship opportunity now...”
Blade: “Not because they wanted to actually give me the shot mind you...”
Ms Mountains: “Oh how can you say that? You've got the shot, they announced it was you getting it.”
Blade: “Drum roll for the big reveal.... I got that shot because I earned it, but not in the way they hoped.”
Ms. Mountains: “Then how did you get this mystery shot?”
Blade: “Think back to October. I'm sure you remember a fiasco that culminated in a Haunted House match. That night I beat JT Underwood and walked out with a briefcase that every other idiot thought was empty. Every other idiot has a hard time remembering that this is pro-fucking-wrestling.”
He reveals the briefcase he's had in his possession since October.
Blade: “In this briefcase there is a certain contract. A contract that claims that I was entitled to a title shot at the title of my choosing pretty much whenever I felt like taking it. Being smarter than everyone else in SCW, I waited. I got screwed the first time around, so I waited. I watched as Gabriel and Underwood bored the cosmos to death twice in a row and I still waited.”
Ms Mountains: “That's a lot of waiting...”
Blade: “Cram it.”
“I waited until Mark Ward and Christian Underwood contacted me about being a part of WrestleClassic and that's when I sprang the contract on them. They had no intention of putting that human bit of driftwood in the ring against me. They certainly never planned to give me was I was long over due, but even before Nick Jones, in all his backroom glory claimed the title of number one contender, I was given a shot when and where I chose.”
“So I picked my spot.”
Ms Mountains: “So it would seem that you have had this all planned out since day one.”
Blade: “From the day SCW announced that we were joining the NWA I had this plan in motion. It was my intention all along to walk into WrestleClassic as the biggest global name on the SCW roster and take the title from whomever held it at that time and put it around the waist that it belonged around. The fact that is was supposed to be JT Underwood was just going to make it that much sweeter, but the fact that he's gone now is nothing but irrelevant.”
Ms Mountains: “But the last few weeks you've been all over the place, like you've been derailed. Come on, last week you even did that whole thing where it was all Clockwork Orange. Speaking in riddles and painting your face and stuff, come on, what was all that? Challenging Bo Dreamwolf to look at who he was? How are you any better?”
Blade just grins a sickly killer smirk.
Blade: “SCW, you see, isn't the only one capable of subterfuge. They want to mess around with me, they have no idea what they're dealing with. I'm the Cardinal Fucking Sinner! I didn't get that way by playing nice. I didn't get that name by explaining everything to a bunch of idiots. I do whatever it takes to get what the fuck I want. I do whatever it takes to be the best and to win.”
Ms Mountains: “But you take others like Nick Jones to task for doing whatever it takes?”
Blade: “That's pretty fucking bold of you Tits, comparing me and that waste of shit Jones like that. I do what it takes to win. In the ring. I actually fight and beat my opponents. That's what the difference is. I got a title shot by actually beating someone. Someone who would eventually be the champion I was originally supposed to face.”
Ms Mountains: “But so did Nick Jones. He won a number one contender's match.”
Blade: “Ugh.”
“I can't believe you made me say Ugh.”
Ms Mountains pretty features get screwed up in disbelief.
Ms Mountains: “What?”
Blade: “Christ, you're like a child. Nick Jones got into a number one contenders match by being a fucking loser. Before that match who did he ever beat?”
Ms Mountains: “Um, well...”
Blade: “Right, you don't fucking know. No one knows. It was nobody, that's who. Nick Jones did jack shit. You know how he was available to be in that match? He lost. He wasn't successful enough in a tag team to advance to being a part of the tournament at that point for the tag team titles. He was out of the hunt. Why wasn't I in a number one contenders match? Because I fucking won. I was talented enough that I actually carried Casey Williams into the next round of the tag team title tournament, and my reward was to see other people get to be in a match to determine the number one contenders match. Thanks for the hard work Blade, now sit back and watch other people reap the rewards of being lazy, useless pieces of shit.”
“Now we've gotten to the point that people are actually starting to think Nick Jones is a fucking threat! A threat to what? The SCW Title? In their fucking dreams. A threat to my sanity? Possibly. A threat to every suicidal wrestling fan? Certainly.”
Ms Mountains: “Oh now, come on. How is Nick Jones a threat to them?”
Blade: “Because if they, like me, have to put up with any more of Mark Ward shoving that talentless hack down our throats we're all going to cut our wrists en mass so we don't have the indignity of dying from choking to death on a human shit pile. Every time I heard that moron's voice I start to gag a bit.”
“Watching Nick Jones operate is a bit like going back in time.”
Ms Mountains: “Back in time?”
Blade: “I don't fucking stutter. It's like going back to 1987 and watching Lex Lugar with the Four Horsemen.”
Ms Mountains: “Now come on, they were one of the greatest groups of all time.”
Blade: “But he was a loser. Now we're all watching the same thing. Here's this fucking idiot with a million dollar body and no clue how to use it. He should stick to flexing and posing because it's all he's got. He runs his mouth about being the best and gives himself a count out victory over JT Underwood after Underwood already quit and he wants to be handed the title. He's got the ego, I'll give him that, but just like classic Lex Lugar this guy's got himself an entourage to get anything done.”
Ms Mountains: “And what if he brings this entourage to the ring with him?”
Blade: “I hope he does. I'll cripple every last useless one of them, then we wont have to put up with any of his shit again. This guy's got the reputation without ever earning it. What's he ever actually done?”
Ms Mountains: “Well in...”
Blade thrusts a hand in Ms Rocky Mountains face.
Blade: “Don't even try to come at me with that other company bullshit. Do you hear me coming our here and going on and on about being so great in PWR or how I dominated sYn! Wrestling? No, I don't have to. I've been great just by going undefeated against everyone SCW has actually bothered to throw against me.”
Ms Mountains: “Not withstanding Bo Dreamwolf just this past weekend.”
Blade: “And why didn't I beat Dreamwolf? Thanks to Nick Jones. The egoist who's interfered just to have bragging rights going into WrestleClassic.”
Ms Mountains: “Then you wont like that he beat your former tag team partner Casey Williams later that night.”
Blade: “So what, Casey beats himself every night in the locker room. Frequently at that.”
Ms Mountains: “Ew.”
Blade: “There's always the explanation that Nick was trying to soften me up for WrestleClassic. For all the good it did him. He should have brought his whole posse with him, then maybe he'd get somewhere. Maybe between the lot of them one has actually seen a wrestling program before and might actually know a real wrestling hold.”
Ms Mountains: “You know you're speaking of a guy who was on the NWA's list of finalists for Best Technical Wrestler at it's year end awards right?”
Blade: “Oh fucking hell! Let's all just bow down to him now then! So what? He was a finalist because he voted for himself for an award decided by voting for yourself. Good for him. I don't need to vote for myself to win fancy awards. I'm the best fucking technical wrestler in the world. I don't need a trophy to prove it. I prove it myself each and every time I step into a wrestling ring.”
“What's more, I'm fucking ruthless. While Nick awards himself wins, I hunt them down. I break people. I run them out of wrestling. I'm not just in this to capture the SCW title and assuage my own ego like Nick Jones is. I'm in this to win the SCW Title because I'm the best. I'm going to carry the company and everyone knows it, but I'm not looking to stop there.”
“It would be pretty short sighted for me to just look at the SCW and want to be top dog there. That's not how I think. That's not how I was raised. I'm the best. Not just in SCW. Not just in Las Vegas. I'm the best in the world. You can bet you bottom dollar that after I step out of the shadow SCW has been trying to cast over me ever since I first opened my mouth that I'll be watching the NWA World Title match very fucking closely, because that's where I'm headed.”
“I've seen what they've got to offer, and it's so fucking unimpressive. Everywhere I look in wrestling now that's what I see.”
“The NWA World Champion himself is so self absorbed he wants us all to invest in his life like a 20-something girl with a blog and no boyfriend. He wants us to invest in his life like we care where he lives, what he drives, or what his favorite gaming system is. No one gives a shit. In SCW we have Misty and that whole fucked up family who want to make us care about her kid and her husband and her brother in law. They want to use SCW as a forum for their personal soap opera and it makes me want to blow chunks all over her fat-girl wrestling gear each time I see her. Fuck you, dumb bitch.”
“For the record I haven't even bothered to remember the NWA World Champion's name.”
Ms Mountains: “What? He's like the best wrestler in the world, how can you not know his name?”
Blade: “He can't be the fucking best. He's never even been in the ring with me. I'm at the top of the wrestling food chain and I'm sick and fucking tired of having to act like I'm not. I told each and ever one of you morons that Las Vegas is my city and it's about time I got around to beating that into your ugly skulls. First I take SCW, then I take the world. Captain boring, the NWA Champion can't stop me. That guy who's challenging him, the emo guy, he can't stop me. Nick Jones and all the favors he wants to call in sure can't stop me.”
“Until last week you know Nick Jones wasn't even on my radar.”
Ms Mountains: “At all?”
Blade: “I heard the name, sure. I chuckled when he won the number one contender spot. I didn't know him, he was nothing. He hadn't proved anything other than he could do whatever it was that Mark Ward is getting out of their deal. All the hype didn't impress me. He still hasn't impressed me, and while he acted last week like he didn't even know my name... When he actually got involved in my match, that's when I knew I had him. He had to get involved in my match. Not the other way around. He had to get the advantage over me. Not the other way around. It's not that he fired the first shot or got a leg up on me or got the jump on me or anything like that, it's that he felt the need to.”
He grins that wolfish grin again.
Blade: “It that for all his talk, for all his posturing it's all fake. Just like his talent in the ring, his self-confidence is a fraud. He knows I'm better than him. He knows I can beat him. And now thanks to his antsy gut feeling and the need to take shots at me just so he could feel better about having me possibly compromised coming in to WrestleClassic, it's all backfired.”
“Nick Jones is used to being a big fish in a little pond. He's a tiger shark that can swim around showing all his big scary teeth and all the little chum go scurrying out of the for fear of the promise of death those teeth hold, but now Jones, you've made the fatal flaw that all your type does. You peered into the depths. Trolling the shallows made you over confident. Having some big Beluga clear a path for you made you grow too bold and you went deeper than you ever should have.”
“You've gone down Nick, and WrestleClassic is the big time. You're well out of your depth. You're not the big fish in a little pond. With thousands there to see live and the uncounted millions watching on Pay Per View, you've ventured into the deepest blue and that thing you poked down there, that thing that you stirred is your greatest nightmare. You've woken that creature of mythology Nick. You're a Great White Nick, but how does a shark feel staring into the burning hatred, that eternal evil in the eyes of fucking Godzilla?”
“I'm going to destroy you Nick. It's not because I personally hate you. It's not because you've slighted me some how. I don't give a shit about your personal life. And even if you hadn't condescended to try to have Mark Ward give you the SCW Title outright, I still would have used your frontal lobe to repaint the canvas at WrestleClassic simply because you've had the ambition of thinking you could control your little world when I'm a part of it.”
“You can't control me nick Jones. You can't contain me. You sure as fuck can't BEAT me. I'm already greater than anything you will ever be, and this is only the beginning for you. WrestleClassic, Nick. The best fucking wrestler you will ever have the opportunity to face. I'm going to beat you, I'm going to take the SCW Championship, then I'm going to shake down SCW and turn it from the little Vegas lounge act it's been with your horseshit and turn it into one of those epic fucking life experiences people say stay in Vegas cause it would rip their life apart otherwise.”
“Then I'm coming for the NWA World Championship.”
Fade.
