Post by KASH on Jan 12, 2017 2:47:30 GMT -5
We find our anti-hero, Kash, sitting in the living room of their apartment; Kash, in a button-down shirt, khakis and reading glasses, flipping through news articles on his iPad. His wife, Rachel, brings him a glass of ice water and…
...sits down in an adjacent chair and starts flipping through her phone. Kash looks up over his iPad at her.
Kash: Beautiful day, isn’t it?
Salem: It is. I was thinking I would go down to the market and get us some fresh vegetables for dinner tonight. I found this great new vegan recipe I thought looked amazing.
Kash: That sounds great. I have to go into the office and get my filing up to date…
Rachel gives Kash a stern look.
Salem: Randall, you know your boss will come down on you if you don’t catch up. You were already passed over for the last promotion, don’t give him reason to up and fire you.
Kash sighs, sounding defeated.
Kash: I know, Rach.
Kash looks around the room, getting up from the couch he was sitting on. He has an odd look on his face, like he’s realizing he isn’t where he should be.
Kash: Rachel, where are we?
Salem: What?
Kash: Where... are we?
Salem: At home.
Kash: I know that. I recognize our furniture. I meant city.
Salem: Tokyo, Japan. And this isn’t our furniture. We’re renting this place because…
Kash starts to nod, tearing off the dress shirt to reveal a black t-shirt with a red skull and barbed wire bat crossbones on it.
Kash: ...because we were going to be here for the next few months. So the next question is this. Why. Why the hell are we not in our rolling sanctuary, the rumble of wheels under our feet while we travel from city to city?
Rachel, now fully into her Salem persona, hands Kash a bottle of sake, which Kash drinks in its entirety on-camera.
Salem: Redemption.
Kash starts rubbing his head, trying to think of something.
Kash: Redemption. Apt name for the company we popped up at after the bitter end to the last adventure. Glory. Again, another apt name, it’s almost like we were destined to be here. The chase, Mrs. Hudson, is on.
Now I know one of my opponents is somebody I’ve faced before.
Salem: John Blade…
Kash drops to the floor. Just out, whole body just quit, the sound of about 260 pounds of dead weight thankfully muffled by the carpet below him and the concrete floor. Salem panics and drops to her knees trying to wake Kash up. When Kash comes to, he looks up at her with sheer terror in his face.
Kash: Did… did you say John Blade?
Salem: Yeah, why?
Kash quickly gets to his feet. He is having a full-on panic attack.
Kash: My very first match for Redemption, and they put me against a wrestling GOD?! Salem, babe, you don’t understand the significance of this match. It is EPIC! This is grandest stage of them all, main event LARGE! John Blade is the biggest icon in the HISTORY of this business. He’s fought EVERYBODY in this industry. You can ask ANYONE about John Blade, and they will all tell you the same thing…
THE KID… FUCKING… SUCKS!
The laughing, jokey, Kash fades quickly, leaving the very serious and angry man we know and are used to. You can see in his eyes he is sharpening his blades like a skilled chef, waiting to slice and shred his opponents apart with his sharp wit and stinging insults. A smirk escapes his face.
John Blade, remember me? It’s your old pal Kash from WWH! You know, the same guy you called out in a tables match because I insulted you that one time in the locker room? Remember that, John? Of course you do. You took SO much offense to the fact I called out your sub-par performances and dashed all your hopes for a chance to finally win. And then, when we had the match, and there weren’t enough tables in the damn arena for me to put you through! Did you get all the splinters out of your body, John? From the sounds of all your promos since, I think there might be a piece of table lodged in your skull. Either that or your brain is, literally, driftwood.
Fear not, Johnny Boy, I have something for you. Consider it a peace offering.
You may or may not know this, but I’ve decided to branch out; get my name, my brand, out there in different ways, and one of those way is starting a merchandising company. I’ve had some shirts done up for myself, Salem, Chris Cane… by the way, Chris, I’ll see you at that Rumble match. I even had a custom leather jacket done for my friend Jacob Cass. And as a thank you for his behind-the-scenes work in getting me into Redemption, I made Remmy Boucher a customized hockey jersey.
However, I saved the best for last. Fact is, you sucked then, you haven’t improved, and I felt a bit sorry for you. I felt empathy for you, John. Can you imagine how much that STUNG me? You might never beat me between the ropes, but for that one moment, John, that ONE moment when I felt something other than disgust, I would have probably tapped out. And for that reason alone, I had a shirt made just for you.
Wear it with pride, Short Bus!
NOW, moving on to your tag partner, Giovanna Whitetrash. First of all, to steal a quote from my brother, sorry ‘bout your damn luck. Ain’t nobody should be punished as bad as you’ve been this week having to team with John Blade. At least I thought that until I watched some of your old promos and come to realize… um, how can I put this delicately?
You’re the drizzling shits.
What, too blunt? Did I hurt you, snowflake? Damn, the hell are my manners, you’re a child and here I am, as a grown-ass man, talking down to you. Had your PARENTS actually raised you proper, there wouldn’t be need of people like me telling you how the world actually works, and here’s the rub. The world don’t owe you shit. You want something, don’t sit around whining about it, blowing up all your little social media pages. Stand on your own two feet, and bust your ass until you get it. Guess what, you ain’t gonna achieve it the first time, and there ain’t no participation awards to avoid you feeling like a loser. You will lose, and often. Hell, ask your partner how losing feels because the cat ain’t won a match as far as I know of. Fear not, little lady, I will personally teach you what loss is.
I bet you didn’t even notice the Wheel of Fortune joke, did you? Kids…
Hell, Mankini, I have clothes in my closet back home that are older than you, and the biggest difference between them and you is that they have a use. You’re eye candy for the blind, with a voice that makes deaf people scream in agony. You know, I remember a time when great things came out of New Jersey. Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, Bam Bam Bigelow, Frank Sinatra Sr. and Jr.. Fucking bubble wrap was invented in New Jersey! Nowadays, sadly, it’s become the dingleberry of New York’s arsehole. And you, Little Miss Cumstain, are the epitome of THAT. You aren’t even original, you come out looking like a Jersey Shore reject… for fuck’s sake, we already have a deranged orange-faced oompa-loompa, we REALLY don’t need another. And instead of seeing the world outside of the Garden State, you embrace its mediocrity and call it thriving.
You and Blade suit each other, the more I see the two of you individually. He sucks in the ring, and you suck… well, anywhere from what I’ve overheard. Just keep your scabby lips, both sets, away from me. There ain’t enough alcohol on the planet to consider it, and I wouldn’t even touch you with a stolen dick. I typically don’t tell people to put the barrel to their skull and pull the trigger, but it would probably be the best career decision you could make for yourself. I’m just putting it out there, you don’t have to follow my advice or anything but yeah, click click boom.
Kash rubs his head in frustration; he feels disgusted with himself. He feels he should have done better, gone at his opponents with perhaps a bit more class, perhaps portray them as threats to make himself look better in victory. All those lessons he’s picked up in his career, and in one promo, he knows he threw all of that out the window. Then he comes to the realization his opponents simply didn’t merit that type of hype, knowing full-well they would never rise to the standards he sets for himself. He’s softened a little now, almost stoic as he continues.
Tell you what, while I know I could have taken the two of them on in a handicap match, with one arm tied behind my back and blindfolded, the bookers decided to give me a tag team partner by the name of Jack Tillman. Now, I’m gonna be honest, kid, I don’t have a clue who you are, but if you’re everything Constantine says you are, and I’ve only ever heard good things about him so I’m going to trust his judgment, then I know you’ll be alright.
You bill yourself as a wrestler first, second and third, and good on you if you can keep that intensity and continue to push yourself, you could have a hell of a career. You have the pedigree, that ‘it’ factor that only certain few ever achieve. Thing is, and take it as you will, but I’m not one with the tag teaming. Hell, I got a Fort Knox of championships, many of them tag team but that was a different time. I’ll admit, I was the one carried in a lot of those matches. Now, I ain’t got the patience to do the same. Find yourself someone of your own speed, your own intensity, your own age who you can build on, and blow the roof off this industry.
This week, we’re partners; it may happen sometime down the road we end up opponents but that’s a different day. This week, I want you to go out and show Redemption what the future of this industry could be. After the match, I’ll take you on the town, show you a bit of the old-school ways. This fight against Mancini and Blade was won when it was booked, so let’s just go out there, do what we do best, make a couple of chumps out of our opposition and get paid.
See you in Fukuoka. Ganbatte.
(Wait, wait, wait, hold up… did… did that just really happen? Dress shirts? Khakis? Glasses? WATER?! Surely, this can NOT be the beginning of a promo from the knock-em-down, beer-drinking, hell-raising, hardcore asshole, right? There has to be a catch here, right? *Sigh* Alright, let’s see where this leads)
...sits down in an adjacent chair and starts flipping through her phone. Kash looks up over his iPad at her.
Kash: Beautiful day, isn’t it?
Salem: It is. I was thinking I would go down to the market and get us some fresh vegetables for dinner tonight. I found this great new vegan recipe I thought looked amazing.
Kash: That sounds great. I have to go into the office and get my filing up to date…
(*cue scratching record* - kids, if you have no idea what a scratching record is, or what it sounds like, go ask your parents… NO! NO! NO! This CAN’T be happening! RANDALL KASH CAN NOT BE VEGAN! EVER! And what’s this “office” crap? Folks, I feel as gypped as you all must feel right now. I’m literally speechless. Okay, everyone knows about the WWH story, and the fact he has since apologized for his actions, but to be reduced to… well, this… it’s unheard of.)
Rachel gives Kash a stern look.
Salem: Randall, you know your boss will come down on you if you don’t catch up. You were already passed over for the last promotion, don’t give him reason to up and fire you.
Kash sighs, sounding defeated.
Kash: I know, Rach.
Kash looks around the room, getting up from the couch he was sitting on. He has an odd look on his face, like he’s realizing he isn’t where he should be.
Kash: Rachel, where are we?
Salem: What?
Kash: Where... are we?
Salem: At home.
Kash: I know that. I recognize our furniture. I meant city.
Salem: Tokyo, Japan. And this isn’t our furniture. We’re renting this place because…
Kash starts to nod, tearing off the dress shirt to reveal a black t-shirt with a red skull and barbed wire bat crossbones on it.
Kash: ...because we were going to be here for the next few months. So the next question is this. Why. Why the hell are we not in our rolling sanctuary, the rumble of wheels under our feet while we travel from city to city?
Rachel, now fully into her Salem persona, hands Kash a bottle of sake, which Kash drinks in its entirety on-camera.
Salem: Redemption.
(Phew… I was worried. Okay, I wasn’t really…)
Kash starts rubbing his head, trying to think of something.
Kash: Redemption. Apt name for the company we popped up at after the bitter end to the last adventure. Glory. Again, another apt name, it’s almost like we were destined to be here. The chase, Mrs. Hudson, is on.
Now I know one of my opponents is somebody I’ve faced before.
Salem: John Blade…
Kash drops to the floor. Just out, whole body just quit, the sound of about 260 pounds of dead weight thankfully muffled by the carpet below him and the concrete floor. Salem panics and drops to her knees trying to wake Kash up. When Kash comes to, he looks up at her with sheer terror in his face.
Kash: Did… did you say John Blade?
(Oh, shit, she doesn’t KNOW!)
Salem: Yeah, why?
Kash quickly gets to his feet. He is having a full-on panic attack.
Kash: My very first match for Redemption, and they put me against a wrestling GOD?! Salem, babe, you don’t understand the significance of this match. It is EPIC! This is grandest stage of them all, main event LARGE! John Blade is the biggest icon in the HISTORY of this business. He’s fought EVERYBODY in this industry. You can ask ANYONE about John Blade, and they will all tell you the same thing…
THE KID… FUCKING… SUCKS!
The laughing, jokey, Kash fades quickly, leaving the very serious and angry man we know and are used to. You can see in his eyes he is sharpening his blades like a skilled chef, waiting to slice and shred his opponents apart with his sharp wit and stinging insults. A smirk escapes his face.
John Blade, remember me? It’s your old pal Kash from WWH! You know, the same guy you called out in a tables match because I insulted you that one time in the locker room? Remember that, John? Of course you do. You took SO much offense to the fact I called out your sub-par performances and dashed all your hopes for a chance to finally win. And then, when we had the match, and there weren’t enough tables in the damn arena for me to put you through! Did you get all the splinters out of your body, John? From the sounds of all your promos since, I think there might be a piece of table lodged in your skull. Either that or your brain is, literally, driftwood.
Fear not, Johnny Boy, I have something for you. Consider it a peace offering.
You may or may not know this, but I’ve decided to branch out; get my name, my brand, out there in different ways, and one of those way is starting a merchandising company. I’ve had some shirts done up for myself, Salem, Chris Cane… by the way, Chris, I’ll see you at that Rumble match. I even had a custom leather jacket done for my friend Jacob Cass. And as a thank you for his behind-the-scenes work in getting me into Redemption, I made Remmy Boucher a customized hockey jersey.
However, I saved the best for last. Fact is, you sucked then, you haven’t improved, and I felt a bit sorry for you. I felt empathy for you, John. Can you imagine how much that STUNG me? You might never beat me between the ropes, but for that one moment, John, that ONE moment when I felt something other than disgust, I would have probably tapped out. And for that reason alone, I had a shirt made just for you.
Wear it with pride, Short Bus!
NOW, moving on to your tag partner, Giovanna Whitetrash. First of all, to steal a quote from my brother, sorry ‘bout your damn luck. Ain’t nobody should be punished as bad as you’ve been this week having to team with John Blade. At least I thought that until I watched some of your old promos and come to realize… um, how can I put this delicately?
You’re the drizzling shits.
What, too blunt? Did I hurt you, snowflake? Damn, the hell are my manners, you’re a child and here I am, as a grown-ass man, talking down to you. Had your PARENTS actually raised you proper, there wouldn’t be need of people like me telling you how the world actually works, and here’s the rub. The world don’t owe you shit. You want something, don’t sit around whining about it, blowing up all your little social media pages. Stand on your own two feet, and bust your ass until you get it. Guess what, you ain’t gonna achieve it the first time, and there ain’t no participation awards to avoid you feeling like a loser. You will lose, and often. Hell, ask your partner how losing feels because the cat ain’t won a match as far as I know of. Fear not, little lady, I will personally teach you what loss is.
I bet you didn’t even notice the Wheel of Fortune joke, did you? Kids…
Hell, Mankini, I have clothes in my closet back home that are older than you, and the biggest difference between them and you is that they have a use. You’re eye candy for the blind, with a voice that makes deaf people scream in agony. You know, I remember a time when great things came out of New Jersey. Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, Bam Bam Bigelow, Frank Sinatra Sr. and Jr.. Fucking bubble wrap was invented in New Jersey! Nowadays, sadly, it’s become the dingleberry of New York’s arsehole. And you, Little Miss Cumstain, are the epitome of THAT. You aren’t even original, you come out looking like a Jersey Shore reject… for fuck’s sake, we already have a deranged orange-faced oompa-loompa, we REALLY don’t need another. And instead of seeing the world outside of the Garden State, you embrace its mediocrity and call it thriving.
You and Blade suit each other, the more I see the two of you individually. He sucks in the ring, and you suck… well, anywhere from what I’ve overheard. Just keep your scabby lips, both sets, away from me. There ain’t enough alcohol on the planet to consider it, and I wouldn’t even touch you with a stolen dick. I typically don’t tell people to put the barrel to their skull and pull the trigger, but it would probably be the best career decision you could make for yourself. I’m just putting it out there, you don’t have to follow my advice or anything but yeah, click click boom.
Kash rubs his head in frustration; he feels disgusted with himself. He feels he should have done better, gone at his opponents with perhaps a bit more class, perhaps portray them as threats to make himself look better in victory. All those lessons he’s picked up in his career, and in one promo, he knows he threw all of that out the window. Then he comes to the realization his opponents simply didn’t merit that type of hype, knowing full-well they would never rise to the standards he sets for himself. He’s softened a little now, almost stoic as he continues.
Tell you what, while I know I could have taken the two of them on in a handicap match, with one arm tied behind my back and blindfolded, the bookers decided to give me a tag team partner by the name of Jack Tillman. Now, I’m gonna be honest, kid, I don’t have a clue who you are, but if you’re everything Constantine says you are, and I’ve only ever heard good things about him so I’m going to trust his judgment, then I know you’ll be alright.
You bill yourself as a wrestler first, second and third, and good on you if you can keep that intensity and continue to push yourself, you could have a hell of a career. You have the pedigree, that ‘it’ factor that only certain few ever achieve. Thing is, and take it as you will, but I’m not one with the tag teaming. Hell, I got a Fort Knox of championships, many of them tag team but that was a different time. I’ll admit, I was the one carried in a lot of those matches. Now, I ain’t got the patience to do the same. Find yourself someone of your own speed, your own intensity, your own age who you can build on, and blow the roof off this industry.
This week, we’re partners; it may happen sometime down the road we end up opponents but that’s a different day. This week, I want you to go out and show Redemption what the future of this industry could be. After the match, I’ll take you on the town, show you a bit of the old-school ways. This fight against Mancini and Blade was won when it was booked, so let’s just go out there, do what we do best, make a couple of chumps out of our opposition and get paid.
See you in Fukuoka. Ganbatte.
