Post by Simply Beautiful on Jan 29, 2007 3:30:16 GMT -5
Fade in. We open up to a wide shot of The Thompson Hotel and Conference Centre in Kamloops, BC. After a few moments, we move inside to a penthouse suite. From out of the bathroom comes none other than Simply Beautiful!
His shirt? “SB Rocks My Socks”. The Bandanna? The Shades? The Jeans? All there, baby.
SB: (wink and a smile) Oh Dave, this is so like you. It seems every time you and I lock it up, you come out strong, deliver somewhat of a message…and then, fade away. It’s as if you lose your nerve the minute I retort. What’s up with that, Davey? Cat got your tongue? (OOC: Earl got your tongue?) Or did I just remind you of exactly what your place is? Perhaps you suddenly remembered that both times you tried your luck with me, you got burned. I like the latter rather than the former. But hey, I would, wouldn’t I? Not to dwell on the past, but let’s have a quick history lesson, shall we?
Eleven Twenty-Six Action!, from the Polish Hall in Edmonton. The first time you and I were in the ring together, in a tag match. Your partner was Mr. Slick, or as I so oddly put it, Slicky Dicky, and mine was the Cool Kid. That’s right, the Cool Kid. Don’t remember him? That’s because I kicked his ass so hard, he now sh*ts out of his dick.
In that match, not only do I embarrass you and the worst (BLEEP)in’ Television Champion ever – hold it, here’s an update – SB is undefeated against everyone he's faced who's ever held the Television Championship. Look it up, bitches. But back to the story. So I kick your ass, kick Slick’s ass, and I even toss my own partner a beating before I pin not just you, but Slick at the SAME TIME. Ouch, that’s tough to swallow, huh Banksie?
SB: Then, two months later, you rear your ugly, stupid head again. And again you come out, tell everyone and their mother about “SB this, SB that, I’m the new face of Pure Honor, I can steal promos from SB because he’s secretly my idol”, and a lot of other shit that’s not important enough for anyone to remember for the sake of their own intelligence. And what happens? SexyKick kills ya dead, brotha man. And then a week later your ass is gone, and ratings SOAR. Go figure, huh?
A knock at the door. SB turns, looking annoyed.
SB: (loud enough for the knocker to hear) Interrupt my video, would ya? Who’s this (BLEEP)in’ guy?
SB walks over to the door, twists the knob and opens it quickly, hand cocked back and ready to strike.
The man immediately drops to the floor, shouting:
Bellhop: I’M JUST THE ROOM SERVICE GUY! YOU ORDERED DINNER 20 MINUTES AGO! PLEASE, DON’T KILL ME!
SB rolls his eyes, and throws his hands up in the air.
SB: Get up, jackass. No one’s gonna kill you. But, I didn’t order room service.
The bellhop gets up, dusts himself off, still looks pretty shell shocked.
Bellhop: Sure you did – let’s see, room 812, steak and lobster tail, with some clam chowder and a side of French fries, two cokes, and a pack of cigarettes. That’s you, correct?
SB, as you probably could imagine, did indeed order this food, and it is his room.
SB: Look man, I don’t know where the (BLEEP) you got this job, or who’s toes you had to suck to get it, but I do know that even someone with your pea brain level of intelligence should be able to comprehend that not only did I not order this food, but that you, sir, are in the wrong room, on the wrong floor, and shit, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you (BLEEP)ed around and wound up in the wrong hotel, you slimy, smarmy, shit-eating little peasant!
Bellhop: …
SB: That’s it? You have nothing to say? I oughta stick my foot straight up your (BLEEP)in’ ass, you chickenshit son of a bitch!
Bellhop: … but, this is the right room … (passes out)
SB waits a few moments…waits…and bursts into laughter.
SB: (as he laughs, rolling on the floor) Oh, shit, that works EVERY time.
After some more laughter, SB gets up, wipes away the tears that have welled up from laughing so hard. He goes to his wallet, takes out a few crisp hundred dollar bills, and stuffs it in the fallen bellhop’s breast pocket.
SB: For the laughs, buddy boy. (turns to his computer) Hmm, wonder what people have been posting on the ol’ NAPW site. (pause) He types away for a bit, and then moves his mouse pad around until he finds the latest from everyone’s favorite punch line, David Banks.
SB: Ahh, so he did have a little response. Nice. (cracks knuckles and hits play)
As he watches, you can see SB’s face twisting around…into one of anger? Nope, that’s laughter, alright.
SB: (laughing) Now that’s the way to answer back, Banksie. With a retarded pirate and his fat, drunken, moronic friend speaking in (BLEEP)in’ tongues. (pause) Oh yeah, fat ass, you and that sea donkey MIGHT have met up with some chicks in a bar last night. (chuckles) Does Reestard expect us all to believe this shit?
The bellhop starts to stir, and promptly pulls the food cart inside and slams the door, leaving him outside.
SB: (watching intently) Dave…are you retarded? What part of “You didn’t hurt me” don’t you get, punchy? Yeah, it was a sneak attack, and I got busted open. Shit happens. Keep bragging about that, and I’ll keep reminding you of TWO AND OH, sunshine.
Honestly, it’s like dealing with a short bus kid. How many times have you faced the Icon, Dave? Take your time, I’ll give you a moment. (waits two seconds) Twice. And how many wins do you have? (waits one second) ZERO. ZILCH. NADA. I’ll keep pounding that into your (BLEEP)in’ skull, until the day you leave, die, or I kill you. Because the fact is no matter how many times we cross paths, you’re gonna get the same result; SB’s foot, your ass, and NO SPACE in between, get my drift?
Clicks play.
SB: The rights to Plague’s contract? You know, something tells me that isn’t a legal document, but I could be wrong. What the hell are you even talking about Banks? …..Oh, I get it. You’re trying to diminish my victory because you’re insecure and you know you don’t have a popsicle’s chance in hell. Good try, retard. You know, I used to think your promo’s just sucked, but I’m starting to think maybe you’re just stupid. I mean, you look stupid enough. And you hang around with Captain and Tenille all God damn day. Anyway, back to the videotape.
SB again clicks on the play button.
SB: Pro Wrestling for Dummies. (pauses, awestruck.) Wow, Dave. You’re one original bastard, let me tell ya. Pro Wrestling for Dummies – man, I don’t think you even deserve a response for that. But I’ll give one. You ready?
Pause……still pausing……
SB: You’re a (BLEEP)ing idiot. You have no creativity, you’re a shitty wrestler, and you have absolutely no fan base, Everything you say and do on that camera is self parody, because you’re too stupid to realize that everything you try to package of your own is either stolen from someone else or just so tired and played out that no one would even shit on it and waste the toilet paper.
And about my promo, Banksie. I didn’t know anyone was filming that shit. I was trying to have my (BLEEP)in’ lunch, and the next thing you know I got video’s on youtube and NAPW.ca making me look like I’m cheating on Suzanna – which, baby, I’m not, by the way – and trying to bang this waitress. Mind you, Dave, that girl was nowhere NEAR fifteen. I’d bet my left nut she was at least 28, and I’m not exactly aiming to lose a nut anytime soon so I know I’m right. But hey, if you look at a smokin’ hot twenty-something and see a fifteen year old, maybe you have more in common with Michael Jackson than that (BLEEP)ed up nose and that girly voice. But it could be a coincidence, so I wouldn’t be too alarmed, sunshine.
SB: OK, let me watch the rest of this garbage promo, and then it’s (BLEEP)in’ chow-time.
SB hits play.
SB: Oh, now, this is clever, Banksie. The handicapped section. Because, naturally you’re gonna cripple me, since you’ve taken La Parka’s job as Chairman and for some reason can swing a chair with enough force for Bush to invade Iran without re-instating the draft.
Oh, and you even remembered my dad’s bout with cancer. Which he’s since won and is now fully recovered from. You’ve been gone for a while, Banksie, so I can’t blame ya for missing these things. And then there’s some hoopla about you taking my dignity and trying to downplay me. Jesus, Banks, do you even believe yourself? If you do, hey, it’s your problem, sunshine. Not mine, no sir. I’m not the one who swung chairs when he should have been sitting in one in the back of the arena. But, since you seem to be so desperate to get put out of this business yet again, as you’ve evidenced in your words and through your actions, I’ll be glad to put your ass right back where it was before you popped back up to annoy us all.
SB turns to his food, and starts to go to work on his fries.
SB: (mouth full of food) You know, it’s funny, all I had to do was make fun of your promo and I cut a better one than you did – imagine if I actually tried?
SB laughs, and turns right back to his food.
Fade out and then a cut to…
NAPW COLD SNAP MEDIA DAY!
ALL THE STARS OF NAPW GUARENTEED TO BE THERE!
2 PM: SIMPLY BEAUTIFUL!
His shirt? “SB Rocks My Socks”. The Bandanna? The Shades? The Jeans? All there, baby.
SB: (wink and a smile) Oh Dave, this is so like you. It seems every time you and I lock it up, you come out strong, deliver somewhat of a message…and then, fade away. It’s as if you lose your nerve the minute I retort. What’s up with that, Davey? Cat got your tongue? (OOC: Earl got your tongue?) Or did I just remind you of exactly what your place is? Perhaps you suddenly remembered that both times you tried your luck with me, you got burned. I like the latter rather than the former. But hey, I would, wouldn’t I? Not to dwell on the past, but let’s have a quick history lesson, shall we?
Eleven Twenty-Six Action!, from the Polish Hall in Edmonton. The first time you and I were in the ring together, in a tag match. Your partner was Mr. Slick, or as I so oddly put it, Slicky Dicky, and mine was the Cool Kid. That’s right, the Cool Kid. Don’t remember him? That’s because I kicked his ass so hard, he now sh*ts out of his dick.
In that match, not only do I embarrass you and the worst (BLEEP)in’ Television Champion ever – hold it, here’s an update – SB is undefeated against everyone he's faced who's ever held the Television Championship. Look it up, bitches. But back to the story. So I kick your ass, kick Slick’s ass, and I even toss my own partner a beating before I pin not just you, but Slick at the SAME TIME. Ouch, that’s tough to swallow, huh Banksie?
SB: Then, two months later, you rear your ugly, stupid head again. And again you come out, tell everyone and their mother about “SB this, SB that, I’m the new face of Pure Honor, I can steal promos from SB because he’s secretly my idol”, and a lot of other shit that’s not important enough for anyone to remember for the sake of their own intelligence. And what happens? SexyKick kills ya dead, brotha man. And then a week later your ass is gone, and ratings SOAR. Go figure, huh?
A knock at the door. SB turns, looking annoyed.
SB: (loud enough for the knocker to hear) Interrupt my video, would ya? Who’s this (BLEEP)in’ guy?
SB walks over to the door, twists the knob and opens it quickly, hand cocked back and ready to strike.
The man immediately drops to the floor, shouting:
Bellhop: I’M JUST THE ROOM SERVICE GUY! YOU ORDERED DINNER 20 MINUTES AGO! PLEASE, DON’T KILL ME!
SB rolls his eyes, and throws his hands up in the air.
SB: Get up, jackass. No one’s gonna kill you. But, I didn’t order room service.
The bellhop gets up, dusts himself off, still looks pretty shell shocked.
Bellhop: Sure you did – let’s see, room 812, steak and lobster tail, with some clam chowder and a side of French fries, two cokes, and a pack of cigarettes. That’s you, correct?
SB, as you probably could imagine, did indeed order this food, and it is his room.
SB: Look man, I don’t know where the (BLEEP) you got this job, or who’s toes you had to suck to get it, but I do know that even someone with your pea brain level of intelligence should be able to comprehend that not only did I not order this food, but that you, sir, are in the wrong room, on the wrong floor, and shit, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you (BLEEP)ed around and wound up in the wrong hotel, you slimy, smarmy, shit-eating little peasant!
Bellhop: …
SB: That’s it? You have nothing to say? I oughta stick my foot straight up your (BLEEP)in’ ass, you chickenshit son of a bitch!
Bellhop: … but, this is the right room … (passes out)
SB waits a few moments…waits…and bursts into laughter.
SB: (as he laughs, rolling on the floor) Oh, shit, that works EVERY time.
After some more laughter, SB gets up, wipes away the tears that have welled up from laughing so hard. He goes to his wallet, takes out a few crisp hundred dollar bills, and stuffs it in the fallen bellhop’s breast pocket.
SB: For the laughs, buddy boy. (turns to his computer) Hmm, wonder what people have been posting on the ol’ NAPW site. (pause) He types away for a bit, and then moves his mouse pad around until he finds the latest from everyone’s favorite punch line, David Banks.
SB: Ahh, so he did have a little response. Nice. (cracks knuckles and hits play)
As he watches, you can see SB’s face twisting around…into one of anger? Nope, that’s laughter, alright.
SB: (laughing) Now that’s the way to answer back, Banksie. With a retarded pirate and his fat, drunken, moronic friend speaking in (BLEEP)in’ tongues. (pause) Oh yeah, fat ass, you and that sea donkey MIGHT have met up with some chicks in a bar last night. (chuckles) Does Reestard expect us all to believe this shit?
The bellhop starts to stir, and promptly pulls the food cart inside and slams the door, leaving him outside.
SB: (watching intently) Dave…are you retarded? What part of “You didn’t hurt me” don’t you get, punchy? Yeah, it was a sneak attack, and I got busted open. Shit happens. Keep bragging about that, and I’ll keep reminding you of TWO AND OH, sunshine.
Honestly, it’s like dealing with a short bus kid. How many times have you faced the Icon, Dave? Take your time, I’ll give you a moment. (waits two seconds) Twice. And how many wins do you have? (waits one second) ZERO. ZILCH. NADA. I’ll keep pounding that into your (BLEEP)in’ skull, until the day you leave, die, or I kill you. Because the fact is no matter how many times we cross paths, you’re gonna get the same result; SB’s foot, your ass, and NO SPACE in between, get my drift?
Clicks play.
SB: The rights to Plague’s contract? You know, something tells me that isn’t a legal document, but I could be wrong. What the hell are you even talking about Banks? …..Oh, I get it. You’re trying to diminish my victory because you’re insecure and you know you don’t have a popsicle’s chance in hell. Good try, retard. You know, I used to think your promo’s just sucked, but I’m starting to think maybe you’re just stupid. I mean, you look stupid enough. And you hang around with Captain and Tenille all God damn day. Anyway, back to the videotape.
SB again clicks on the play button.
SB: Pro Wrestling for Dummies. (pauses, awestruck.) Wow, Dave. You’re one original bastard, let me tell ya. Pro Wrestling for Dummies – man, I don’t think you even deserve a response for that. But I’ll give one. You ready?
Pause……still pausing……
SB: You’re a (BLEEP)ing idiot. You have no creativity, you’re a shitty wrestler, and you have absolutely no fan base, Everything you say and do on that camera is self parody, because you’re too stupid to realize that everything you try to package of your own is either stolen from someone else or just so tired and played out that no one would even shit on it and waste the toilet paper.
And about my promo, Banksie. I didn’t know anyone was filming that shit. I was trying to have my (BLEEP)in’ lunch, and the next thing you know I got video’s on youtube and NAPW.ca making me look like I’m cheating on Suzanna – which, baby, I’m not, by the way – and trying to bang this waitress. Mind you, Dave, that girl was nowhere NEAR fifteen. I’d bet my left nut she was at least 28, and I’m not exactly aiming to lose a nut anytime soon so I know I’m right. But hey, if you look at a smokin’ hot twenty-something and see a fifteen year old, maybe you have more in common with Michael Jackson than that (BLEEP)ed up nose and that girly voice. But it could be a coincidence, so I wouldn’t be too alarmed, sunshine.
SB: OK, let me watch the rest of this garbage promo, and then it’s (BLEEP)in’ chow-time.
SB hits play.
SB: Oh, now, this is clever, Banksie. The handicapped section. Because, naturally you’re gonna cripple me, since you’ve taken La Parka’s job as Chairman and for some reason can swing a chair with enough force for Bush to invade Iran without re-instating the draft.
Oh, and you even remembered my dad’s bout with cancer. Which he’s since won and is now fully recovered from. You’ve been gone for a while, Banksie, so I can’t blame ya for missing these things. And then there’s some hoopla about you taking my dignity and trying to downplay me. Jesus, Banks, do you even believe yourself? If you do, hey, it’s your problem, sunshine. Not mine, no sir. I’m not the one who swung chairs when he should have been sitting in one in the back of the arena. But, since you seem to be so desperate to get put out of this business yet again, as you’ve evidenced in your words and through your actions, I’ll be glad to put your ass right back where it was before you popped back up to annoy us all.
SB turns to his food, and starts to go to work on his fries.
SB: (mouth full of food) You know, it’s funny, all I had to do was make fun of your promo and I cut a better one than you did – imagine if I actually tried?
SB laughs, and turns right back to his food.
Fade out and then a cut to…
NAPW COLD SNAP MEDIA DAY!
ALL THE STARS OF NAPW GUARENTEED TO BE THERE!
2 PM: SIMPLY BEAUTIFUL!