An Insult
Mar 6, 2012 17:27:39 GMT -5
Post by Chandler Scott on Mar 6, 2012 17:27:39 GMT -5
[The black screen soon fades open to the image of Preston Blake. Dressed to the nines in his Ralph Lauren Purple Label attire, Preston relaxes in the backseat of a limo while the driver chauffeurs him around the city of New York. After the limo driver comes to a stop at the intersection light, Preston looks around. He taps his finger on the door handle impatiently, eager to get to whatever his destination is. He then rolls down the window, looking to get some fresh air. Just then, a rather ratty looking bum limps his way over towards the door. Preston, being the snob that he is, sighs as he sees the homeless man approaching him. As the homeless man continues to limp over towards the vehicle, he holds out a red solo cup and shakes it, causing the coins inside of it to shuffle around. He then leads forward, showing his toothy grin as he speaks. The repulsive look on Preston's face is priceless.]
Homeless Man:
“My oh my, that's a sweet looking ride you've got there,” says the man as he takes a step back and admires the limousine. Preston just ignores the man's complement, rolling his eyes and cutting directly to the chase...
Preston Blake:
“What on earth do you want?” asks Preston with a sternness in his voice. He clearly isn't sympathetic to this man's cause.
Homeless Man:
“C'mon man, that's no way to talk to people,” says the man, who is a tad bit put off by Preston's coldness towards him.
Preston:
“You're not a person. You're scum. Get away from that door. You're dirtying up the vehicle,” says Preston as he turns his nose up while making a shooing motion with his hands.
Homeless Man:
“C'mon man, you can't spare me a dollar?” asks the man with a look of sorrow in his eyes.
Preston:
“No,” says Preston, shutting the man down without hesitation.
Homeless Man:
“My man, you can’t spare me one messily dollar,” asks the man, who clearly believes that judging by his wardrobe and his choice of transportation, Preston's got at least one dollar to spare.
Preston:
“Didn't I just tell you no!? Get the hell away from me. Your scent is nauseating and I'm trying my hardest not to vomit,” says Preston in the snottiest of tones. He looks the man up and down and flashes an arrogant smirk. The type of smirk that makes you want to ball up your fist and punch him directly in the face.
Homeless Man:
“You mean to tell me that a well-dressed man like you, who's cruising around in a ride like this, can't spare little old me a buck,” says the man, now seeming more agitated than needy at this point.
Preston:
“Let me tell you something. I wouldn't give someone like you a penny, let alone a dollar. I earned all of my money. I went to school. I graduated. I have a well paying job. And maybe if at some point in your life you got off your lazy butt and did the same, then maybe you wouldn't be hanging out on the corner begging people far more important than you'll ever be for a dollar. You understand me? You are nothing. You are trash, always have been and always will be. Now why don't you do me a favor and get the hell out of my face, you filthy piece of cra-,” before Preston can even continue to run this poor man down, the man reaches through the window and grabs Preston by the wrist.
Homeless Man:
“Now you listen to me, boy.....” says the man in a not-so-pleasant tone. Any resemblence of kindness is now gone from his face.
Preston:
“Get off of me!” exclaims Preston as he tries to pull his arm away.
Homeless Man:
“You don't treat people like that.....” says the man, trying to give Preston a good talking to.
Preston:
“I said GET OFF OF ME!” shouts Preston, who is trying frantically to pull his arm away from this man. But the man has a tight grip on Preston's wrist and refuses to let go.
Homeless Man:
“One of these days, you're going to get exactly what you deserv-”
(Before the man can continue to give Preston a lecture, Preston reaches over with his free hand, grabs a large cup of Starbucks coffee and hoists it up towards the window, splashing the scolding hot liquid against the man's face. The man crumbles to the ground. He screams in agony while he covers his face. The driver then speeds off as the light turns green. Preston then repeatedly bangs on the window, trying to gain the driver's attention. The driver then pushes a button to roll down the privacy window. He looks back at Preston through the rear view mirror.)
Preston:
“Chauncey!” shouts Preston?
Chauncey:
“Yes sir?”
Preston: I was being attacked back here by some bum off the streets. Why didn't you help me!?”
Chauncey:
“You had the privacy window up, sir.”
Preston:
“You mean to tell me that you couldn't hear anything!?”
Chauncey:
“No sir”
Preston:
“I ought to fire you on the spot.....”
Chauncey:
“I apologize for failing you. I won't happen again...”
Preston:
“Just shut up and keep driving! And hand me a cloth. A moist towelette. SOMETHING! That man had his filthy hands all over me and now, I feel dirty....”
(Preston pouts as he tries to wipe himself off. The driver then reaches back and hands him a bottle of hand sanitizer. Preston pops open the top and shakes the contents into his hand. He feverishly rubs the sanitizer all over his hands and forearms, trying his hardest to kill any germs or diseases that rat bastard may have had. Preston then instructs Chauncey to roll the privacy window back up. Once Preston readjusts his shirt and cools himself down, he turns to his left and begins to talk into the camera.)
Preston:
“I know what you must all be thinking. Why would a man of my needs and my wealth refuse to give a man clearly in need a single dollar? Well it's rather simple when you think about it. Why should I give to others when nothing has been given to us? Why should I be kind to that gutter when trash people are rude to us? And why should I give that man something that he clearly needs when I've yet to be given what I clearly need? Preston waits while the viewers ponder over that thought.
“It wasn't that long ago when I received my third victory, which placed me into championship contention for the Frontier Heavyweight Championship. But instead of getting that championship match, it went to Blaine Harrison of all people, a man that my partner and I had already beaten in tag team action. But instead of the Frontier Office realizing the error of their ways and changing the decision, they stuck to their guns and gave Blaine Harrison, a man that hasn't won a big match yet here in Frontier, a title shot. But I guess I could have lived with that. Blaine had accepted my challenge for Spring Breakage. And if by some fluke that Blaine actually defeated Tomkins, then I'd be first in line for a title shot. And in the main event of Frontier's second supershow, I would be the man to defeat Blaine and finally, the Frontier Heavyweight Championship would be in the hands of a Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarvard man. That is, until I found out that you of all people, Micky O'Reilly, is now in the main event of Spring Breakage.,” Preston scoffs at the thought of Micky O'Reilly, FGA's town drunk, headlining a supershow event.
“Micky O'Reilly, an undeserving s.o.b., a man that is am embarrassment to this company, and a man that is no better than that bum on the street.... is now main eventing Frontier's second supershow. Whereas a guy like me, a man that dresses well, is well spoken, is well educated... a man that you can sell to advertisers, a man that you can sell as the face of your company, a man that has been here since the very first show back in December is robbed of his supershow main event slot at Spring Breakage. Where did I go wrong? What should I have done differently. Maybe I should start handing out liquor to underage members of the audience. Yeah, that'll work. Hey, maybe I should show up to the arenas all sloshed and hammered. Yeah, that'll be so cool, wouldn't it? Or maybe, just maybe I'll start attacking people. Yeah, that's a great way to get noticed because surely my sub-par wrestling ability won't get me noticed.” Preston is laying on the sarcasm pretty thin as he takes his cheap shots at Micky.
“You disgust me, Micky. You repulse me. I find it offensive that I have to be stuck wrestling in front of a bunch of backwoods living, gap-toothed, kissing cousin hicks in West Virginia. But it's even more insulting to be forced to belittle myself by wrestling you. A man like you is no threat to me inside of that ring. On the roads, sure, because your alcohol level is probably already three times over the legal limit. But in that ring, you are no threat to me. Maybe to the Tomkins' of the world, who are too stupid to look over their shoulder even though they currently hold the biggest target in this place, the Heavyweight Championship. And maybe to the Blaines of the world, who aren't that good to begin with. But to me? An accomplished athlete like me? Never. See, I'm a well-trained athlete. I've been taught by the best and have years of training. Whereas you, Micky, you learned how to wrestle from a couple of cheat sheets and a dvd you ordered off some late night infomercial. You're not a professional wrestler. You're a professional joke. Do you even know what time it is? How about the day? I know you're new to America and all, but do you even know who the President is? Do you even know anything about your current surroundings, Micky? I didn't think so. But here's the thing. That won't change after our little encounter tomorrow night. Right now, you don't know where you are because you're too drunk to stand. But tomorrow night, you won't know where you are either. And it surprisingly won't be because of intoxication. But you won't know where you are because I'll knock you absolutely silly!” Preston then smacks the back of his hand for added effect.
“You may be a bigger man than me. You may even be stronger than me. But when it comes to wits and when it comes to intelligence, I have you beat seven days of the week, three hundred and sixty five days out of the year. A man like you, with a fifth grade education can't possible best a Harvard graduate such as myself. You just can't! So while people may see you as the aggressor on paper due to our size difference, I'll be the one calling the shots in that ring. I'll be the one controlling you. Though that's not saying much, since outsmarting you is like outsmarting a toddler. You're both easily amused and just as easily confused. Trust me when I tell you, Mick, I'll be running circles around you in West Virginia tomorrow night.
If there is one silver lining about all of this, it's this. Yes, it stings knowing that you'll be taking a main event spot away from me at Spring Breakage. But the only way that match of yours will be for the title is if you get your third victory. See, I've already got my three wins. And if by some stroke of luck that Blaine walks out of West Virginia the Heavyweight Champion, then my match with him at Spring Breakage will indeed be for the gold. But the only way you're match will be for that title is if you get that third win. And guess who is stopping you from getting that third win? Take a wild guess on who is standing in the way between you and a Frontier Heavyweight Championship match? That's right, smart guy. Me! I'm in your way. I'm the road block. I'm the hurdle. I'm the obstacle that you have to overcome. You may have easily been able to manhandle Tomkins. But I won't be so easily tossed around that ring, Micky. And you want to know why? It's because I am mentally superior than you. I am your physical better. I am the embodiment of your unrealized potential. And I will show you, and everyone else in West Virginia, why I will soon become the next Frontier Heavyweight Champion.
And that, my not so handsome friend, is the truth!
[The scene fades to crimson, followed by the Harvard “H”.]
Homeless Man:
“My oh my, that's a sweet looking ride you've got there,” says the man as he takes a step back and admires the limousine. Preston just ignores the man's complement, rolling his eyes and cutting directly to the chase...
Preston Blake:
“What on earth do you want?” asks Preston with a sternness in his voice. He clearly isn't sympathetic to this man's cause.
Homeless Man:
“C'mon man, that's no way to talk to people,” says the man, who is a tad bit put off by Preston's coldness towards him.
Preston:
“You're not a person. You're scum. Get away from that door. You're dirtying up the vehicle,” says Preston as he turns his nose up while making a shooing motion with his hands.
Homeless Man:
“C'mon man, you can't spare me a dollar?” asks the man with a look of sorrow in his eyes.
Preston:
“No,” says Preston, shutting the man down without hesitation.
Homeless Man:
“My man, you can’t spare me one messily dollar,” asks the man, who clearly believes that judging by his wardrobe and his choice of transportation, Preston's got at least one dollar to spare.
Preston:
“Didn't I just tell you no!? Get the hell away from me. Your scent is nauseating and I'm trying my hardest not to vomit,” says Preston in the snottiest of tones. He looks the man up and down and flashes an arrogant smirk. The type of smirk that makes you want to ball up your fist and punch him directly in the face.
Homeless Man:
“You mean to tell me that a well-dressed man like you, who's cruising around in a ride like this, can't spare little old me a buck,” says the man, now seeming more agitated than needy at this point.
Preston:
“Let me tell you something. I wouldn't give someone like you a penny, let alone a dollar. I earned all of my money. I went to school. I graduated. I have a well paying job. And maybe if at some point in your life you got off your lazy butt and did the same, then maybe you wouldn't be hanging out on the corner begging people far more important than you'll ever be for a dollar. You understand me? You are nothing. You are trash, always have been and always will be. Now why don't you do me a favor and get the hell out of my face, you filthy piece of cra-,” before Preston can even continue to run this poor man down, the man reaches through the window and grabs Preston by the wrist.
Homeless Man:
“Now you listen to me, boy.....” says the man in a not-so-pleasant tone. Any resemblence of kindness is now gone from his face.
Preston:
“Get off of me!” exclaims Preston as he tries to pull his arm away.
Homeless Man:
“You don't treat people like that.....” says the man, trying to give Preston a good talking to.
Preston:
“I said GET OFF OF ME!” shouts Preston, who is trying frantically to pull his arm away from this man. But the man has a tight grip on Preston's wrist and refuses to let go.
Homeless Man:
“One of these days, you're going to get exactly what you deserv-”
(Before the man can continue to give Preston a lecture, Preston reaches over with his free hand, grabs a large cup of Starbucks coffee and hoists it up towards the window, splashing the scolding hot liquid against the man's face. The man crumbles to the ground. He screams in agony while he covers his face. The driver then speeds off as the light turns green. Preston then repeatedly bangs on the window, trying to gain the driver's attention. The driver then pushes a button to roll down the privacy window. He looks back at Preston through the rear view mirror.)
Preston:
“Chauncey!” shouts Preston?
Chauncey:
“Yes sir?”
Preston: I was being attacked back here by some bum off the streets. Why didn't you help me!?”
Chauncey:
“You had the privacy window up, sir.”
Preston:
“You mean to tell me that you couldn't hear anything!?”
Chauncey:
“No sir”
Preston:
“I ought to fire you on the spot.....”
Chauncey:
“I apologize for failing you. I won't happen again...”
Preston:
“Just shut up and keep driving! And hand me a cloth. A moist towelette. SOMETHING! That man had his filthy hands all over me and now, I feel dirty....”
(Preston pouts as he tries to wipe himself off. The driver then reaches back and hands him a bottle of hand sanitizer. Preston pops open the top and shakes the contents into his hand. He feverishly rubs the sanitizer all over his hands and forearms, trying his hardest to kill any germs or diseases that rat bastard may have had. Preston then instructs Chauncey to roll the privacy window back up. Once Preston readjusts his shirt and cools himself down, he turns to his left and begins to talk into the camera.)
Preston:
“I know what you must all be thinking. Why would a man of my needs and my wealth refuse to give a man clearly in need a single dollar? Well it's rather simple when you think about it. Why should I give to others when nothing has been given to us? Why should I be kind to that gutter when trash people are rude to us? And why should I give that man something that he clearly needs when I've yet to be given what I clearly need? Preston waits while the viewers ponder over that thought.
“It wasn't that long ago when I received my third victory, which placed me into championship contention for the Frontier Heavyweight Championship. But instead of getting that championship match, it went to Blaine Harrison of all people, a man that my partner and I had already beaten in tag team action. But instead of the Frontier Office realizing the error of their ways and changing the decision, they stuck to their guns and gave Blaine Harrison, a man that hasn't won a big match yet here in Frontier, a title shot. But I guess I could have lived with that. Blaine had accepted my challenge for Spring Breakage. And if by some fluke that Blaine actually defeated Tomkins, then I'd be first in line for a title shot. And in the main event of Frontier's second supershow, I would be the man to defeat Blaine and finally, the Frontier Heavyweight Championship would be in the hands of a Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarvard man. That is, until I found out that you of all people, Micky O'Reilly, is now in the main event of Spring Breakage.,” Preston scoffs at the thought of Micky O'Reilly, FGA's town drunk, headlining a supershow event.
“Micky O'Reilly, an undeserving s.o.b., a man that is am embarrassment to this company, and a man that is no better than that bum on the street.... is now main eventing Frontier's second supershow. Whereas a guy like me, a man that dresses well, is well spoken, is well educated... a man that you can sell to advertisers, a man that you can sell as the face of your company, a man that has been here since the very first show back in December is robbed of his supershow main event slot at Spring Breakage. Where did I go wrong? What should I have done differently. Maybe I should start handing out liquor to underage members of the audience. Yeah, that'll work. Hey, maybe I should show up to the arenas all sloshed and hammered. Yeah, that'll be so cool, wouldn't it? Or maybe, just maybe I'll start attacking people. Yeah, that's a great way to get noticed because surely my sub-par wrestling ability won't get me noticed.” Preston is laying on the sarcasm pretty thin as he takes his cheap shots at Micky.
“You disgust me, Micky. You repulse me. I find it offensive that I have to be stuck wrestling in front of a bunch of backwoods living, gap-toothed, kissing cousin hicks in West Virginia. But it's even more insulting to be forced to belittle myself by wrestling you. A man like you is no threat to me inside of that ring. On the roads, sure, because your alcohol level is probably already three times over the legal limit. But in that ring, you are no threat to me. Maybe to the Tomkins' of the world, who are too stupid to look over their shoulder even though they currently hold the biggest target in this place, the Heavyweight Championship. And maybe to the Blaines of the world, who aren't that good to begin with. But to me? An accomplished athlete like me? Never. See, I'm a well-trained athlete. I've been taught by the best and have years of training. Whereas you, Micky, you learned how to wrestle from a couple of cheat sheets and a dvd you ordered off some late night infomercial. You're not a professional wrestler. You're a professional joke. Do you even know what time it is? How about the day? I know you're new to America and all, but do you even know who the President is? Do you even know anything about your current surroundings, Micky? I didn't think so. But here's the thing. That won't change after our little encounter tomorrow night. Right now, you don't know where you are because you're too drunk to stand. But tomorrow night, you won't know where you are either. And it surprisingly won't be because of intoxication. But you won't know where you are because I'll knock you absolutely silly!” Preston then smacks the back of his hand for added effect.
“You may be a bigger man than me. You may even be stronger than me. But when it comes to wits and when it comes to intelligence, I have you beat seven days of the week, three hundred and sixty five days out of the year. A man like you, with a fifth grade education can't possible best a Harvard graduate such as myself. You just can't! So while people may see you as the aggressor on paper due to our size difference, I'll be the one calling the shots in that ring. I'll be the one controlling you. Though that's not saying much, since outsmarting you is like outsmarting a toddler. You're both easily amused and just as easily confused. Trust me when I tell you, Mick, I'll be running circles around you in West Virginia tomorrow night.
If there is one silver lining about all of this, it's this. Yes, it stings knowing that you'll be taking a main event spot away from me at Spring Breakage. But the only way that match of yours will be for the title is if you get your third victory. See, I've already got my three wins. And if by some stroke of luck that Blaine walks out of West Virginia the Heavyweight Champion, then my match with him at Spring Breakage will indeed be for the gold. But the only way you're match will be for that title is if you get that third win. And guess who is stopping you from getting that third win? Take a wild guess on who is standing in the way between you and a Frontier Heavyweight Championship match? That's right, smart guy. Me! I'm in your way. I'm the road block. I'm the hurdle. I'm the obstacle that you have to overcome. You may have easily been able to manhandle Tomkins. But I won't be so easily tossed around that ring, Micky. And you want to know why? It's because I am mentally superior than you. I am your physical better. I am the embodiment of your unrealized potential. And I will show you, and everyone else in West Virginia, why I will soon become the next Frontier Heavyweight Champion.
And that, my not so handsome friend, is the truth!
[The scene fades to crimson, followed by the Harvard “H”.]