Post by Frankie Cocheese on Nov 10, 2014 13:40:30 GMT
It worked. It absolutely worked. Maxwell is livid. LIVID! Maxwell is playing into Cocheese's hands. He wants to shove his fist down Cocheese's throat! He wants to END Cocheese!... And that's exactly what Cocheese wants.
If all goes according to plan, the RWD title will be in Cocheese's hands sooner than he thinks.
The scene opens up to, once again, darkness. The sound of footsteps walking down a hallway is heard. Frankie's voice picks up, and he sounds panicked, very panicked. "Oh no! No! Don't you do it! Don't you fucking do it! Let go of me! Let me out of this thing! Don't! Don't throw me in there! No! Nooooo!" The sound of a metal door slamming shut is heard. Silence falls, and then more footsteps walking in what sounds like the opposite direction can be heard, followed by another door slamming, and then silence.
Finally, light begins to bleed into the darkness, showing a narrow hallway with metal doors on the right and a metal door on the far end. The door on the far end opens, and two figures emerge from it.
One of the figures is a tall man in his mid 50s, balding, with thin grey hair. The other is, well, Cinnamon with her hair down. They are both dressed in all white garb, like doctors. They walk towards the camera. Cinnamon has something in her hand. It looks like a small cup with some pills inside.
"We have his Mental Diagnosis. The patient has been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Delusions of Grandeur, Clinical Depression, Bi-Polar Disorder, as well as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He is prone to acts of violent rage, and even sexual deviancy. We have only recently put him in the cell, after he had tried to attack Police Officers while restrained during a mass murder spree."
They stop in front of a door, and the camera cuts to behind them. Cinnamon looks through a small window on the door, staring at Frankie Cocheese, who is in a corner of the padded room. Frankie's in a straight jacket, with the rest of his attire being his cargo pants and combat boots, what he was arrested in. Frankie has his head lowered, occasionally struggling to get out of the straight jacket. The room is lit with many fluorescent bulbs buzzing overhead.
Cinnamon shakes her head in disappointment. "Sad... How very sad..."
The Doctor nods in agreement. "Just give him those pills. They will sedate him for a while. They may not work right away, but when they do, he will be out like a light."
Cinnamon nods and opens the large metal door while the doctor steps away. She steps into the padded room while the door closes behind her and stares down at Frankie.
"Mr. Cocheese? Mr. Cocheese."
Frankie looks up, and the first thing he takes notice of, if the fans remember, are those beautiful and big fake breasts of hers against that top. He laughs at her. "Here for my medicine, huh? I tell you what, you unbutton a few buttons of that top and that'll be all the medicine I need..."
Cinnamon smirks, starting to do so and telling Frankie. "I want to put my fucking tits in your face!" It appears to be some kind of lucid dream, however, as it cuts to Cinnamon standing there just as she was, rolling her eyes. She gets down on her knees and bringing the cup to his lips. He turns his head away, but she forces him to look at her with one hand on his head while the other brings the cup to his lips. She makes him swallow the pills and steps out of the room, with Frankie laughing as she walks out. The metal door slams shut once again.
The camera cuts to Frankie's right, with Frankie further back in the shot. Frankie slowly gets up, "It's workin... and I don't mean the medicine..." He turns to look at the padded wall that serves to be the camera. "You're all upset now, aren't you, Max? Hah hah hah hah! Oooh... It's brilliant..." He shakes his head.
Those combat boots of his stomp their way to the wall, with Frankie looking directly into the camera. He struggles some more to break the straight jacket, but alas. "You're all upset, yellin and screamin in your hospital bed, looking like some kind of walking corpse with that look in your eyes. That's great. Ranting to some nurse like you're going to come out of that bed and smack her a good one. Man... you really are as crazy as me. But I tell you one thing, like I told you before... You're stupid."
He starts to bang his head at the camera now, but the camera doesn't budge and his head bounces off of it like he's hitting one of the pads in the room.
"Stupid! Stupid! STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID!" With each utterance of the word, he bangs his head against the wall, then steps back and laughs.
"You think I'd slaughter all those people like cattle?! For real?! No! No... I'd just rather make them suffer, and I know exactly how I'm going to make them suffer." He nods knowingly. "I'm going to make them suffer by splitting your damn head open in front of them all in Birmingham! Oh yes I am!" His eyes widen, lips grinning with glee. "I'm going to make them all suffer because everybody's favorite MADMAN is going to be everybody's favorite DEADMAN! You're already half-way there, anyway, from the looks of you!" He snickers.
"Try as you might, Max, but you're going to FALL! And it's going to be by MY hand! I won't need the help of Garland. As a matter of fact, I need to have my own word with him about all this! So you can try to make that man pay all you want. You two can put each other through a wood chipper for all I care but the fact of the matter is, you won't get to do that because you'll have to get through ME! And I'd rather DIE than let that happen!" Frankie shakes some more, trying to break out of the straight jacket. "GRRAAAAHHHHH!"
He gives up, hanging his head for a moment. Silence now, save for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above. He body shakes as he begins to swell with laughter. "Hmhmhmhmhmhm.... Heh heh heh heh heh heh..." He throws his head back. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! MAXWELL! You think I'm some scary movie brought to life?! Well you're right! Because just like in the movies, I'm going to terrorize you until it's my time to STRIKE! And when I strike I will bring down all the terror and destruction I have had follow me my whole career straight down on that greasy head of yours! You think I kill for FUN?! No... I torture my opponents for fun, before they get sent down to the canvas with the Toe Tagger. See..."
Frankie closes his eyes, smiling as if he's trying to think happy thoughts to make himself forget he's in this padded cell with no plan of him exiting in sight. He opens his eyes, "You can say I need guns to bring to our match and you're right! The only guns I need are my two fists and you can ask anybody who has ever stepped in the ring with me before. See, Maxwell... You better get used to that hospital bed, you better get used to the staff at the hospital, because come the 16th, I'm checking your ass into it again myself! This fight isn't going to last in the ring. We both know that! I will say this, intent does matter! And I intend on putting your ass in that pine box! You want HOLDS?! I should make you pass out to the Cocheese clutch! I should make you slowly fade in my arms until you pass out in your own PISS! PISS! HAHAHAHA!"
He squeezes his eyes shut, like that word just now is one of the funniest words on the planet to him. "Words, man. Words. I promise to be a martyr. You're right. You're going to make due on my promise to be a martyr, because like I told you before, you're a stepping stone. You're a stepping stone on my Contest of Conquest. Piss. Martyr. Holds. I've got plenty of other words. Words that'll upset you as I already have. Ooo, you're so upset aren't you? So pissed off by my last video. Now you see, by it, that I can say and do what I want. I can say whatever words I want because I've been SET FREE! I can say what I want! I can say what I feel about you! And I feel that you're a punk! That you're a pussy! That you're a faggot! HAHA! Oooh! Faggot. Faggot. Faggot faggot faggot FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT! HAHAHAHA! WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT! WHAT ARE ANY OF YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?! NOTHING! BECAUSE I AM FREE! I may not look it now, but I'm set free!" He starts to sing, part of a freedom song that he's heard from a choir, but their own version of it. "My body's in prison but my miiiiiind... stayed on freedom! My body's in prison but my miiiiiiieeeeiiiiiind... staaayed on freedom! my body's in prison but my miiiiiind... Stayed on freedom! Hallelu! Hallelu! Halleluuuuuuujah!"
His now bloodshot eyes peer at the camera. "It's insanity! Isn't it? That's what it's been about this whole week! Insanity! I'll tell you what's insane! It's insane that some 12 year old girl and some ditzy blonde were the main event last time! It's insane that when you and I butcher each other, there's another match after that, with my old buddy Frank Washington and his bitchy wife against some terrorist and that 12 year old looking bitch Arty Kaiser again! But who am I, huh? Who am I to deny them their spot. Good for them, right? Heh heh heh heh. They better hold onto it while it lasts, because like I've been warning everyone for months, I'm going to run things. Heh heh heh heh... HAH HAH HAH HAAAAAAAAA!" He steps backwards now, then turns a little to face the wall on the left. He staggers backwards while trying to escape his confines. He slumps against the wall on the right, slowly sliding down it onto his ass. His legs sprawl out. The camera fixes in front of him, but he's not dead center. He's slightly off to the right. "The buzzing! It won't stop! It won't!"
He looks up at the fluorescent lightbulbs, staring at them as if he's mesmerized. Audio is played, dialogue from Cinnamon earlier. "I want to put my fucking tits in your face!" Then of himself. "I'm a motherfucking MARTYR!" "How very sad..." "The patient has been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" It all soon becomes an audible mess. The camera begins to spin around the room, at times focusing on the lights above and on Frankie slumped against the wall looking up in a daze. He's standing in the room at one point, directly in the center with the camera angle as it was before, on the far wall. The camera spins in all these different shots.
"I want to put my fucking tits in your face!I'm a motherfucking MARTYR!How very sad...Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."
"fuckingtitsinyourfacemotherfuckingmartyr!saddelusionsofgrandeurmyfingersohgodNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOclinicaldepressionVerysad...mentaldiagnosisMOTHERFUCKINGMARTYR!"
"fuckingtitsinyourfacemotherfuckingmartyr!NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOsaddelusionsofgrandeurmyfingersohgod clinicaldepressionVerysad...mentaldiagnosisMOTHERFUCKINGMARTYR!"
"fuckingtitsinyourfacemotherfuckingmartyr!sadNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOdelusionsofgrandeurmyfingersohgod bipolardisorderVerysad...mentaldiagnosisMOTHERFUCKINGMARTYR!"
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The camera now cuts back to Frankie, slumped and slightly off center from the camera, looking up at the lights. All of a sudden, his facial expression does a very fast change. His eyes widen and his face is emotionless, like some kind of ruthless killer. Nothing is heard but the buzzing of the lights. The buzzing that just won't stop.
"..... See you when I see you, Maxwell..."
The scene fades.
The fireplace is shown once again, showing the boy that was shot in the previous video standing just as he was before next to Cinnamon, who holds her wine and is dressed in the same gorgeous Gothic-Victorian dress. Music is playing softly in the background; a Victorian Age sounding piece from Ian Whitcomb titled The Merry Widow Waltz.
"It seems like our little Cocheese has further descended into madness. But if I know him like I do, I know his Mental Diagnosis is that he is ready for the 16th. He is ready for Maxwell and he is ready for the 16th. As always, he will walk away with a few scars, but he will walk away." She puts her free hand in the center of her chest. "Who am I? Well... I am just an admirer from afar, just as you all are. And I am a reminder that his murderous spree and his confinement in an asylum is fiction. Which is something that I don't believe Maxwell has quite understood yet. Something that some of you may not understand yet." She tilts her head to her right. "Aww, Maxwell. What's the matter, sweetheart? Are you having trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality? It is just like Frankie has said before, insanity. It is being unable to distinguish fantasy from reality. But the great fans of RWD will be able to see the reality of Frankie Cocheese emerging victorious on the 16th." She brings her wine glass to her lips and takes a sip. "Mmh! Well. Thank you for joining us on Cocheese Theatre. I am the lovely Ms. Fitzgerald and I bid you... farewell..."
She takes a sip from her glass once more while the scene becomes black and white and takes the filter of movies from the early 1930s, before changing to the word "FIN" in bold white font while the filter remains.
If all goes according to plan, the RWD title will be in Cocheese's hands sooner than he thinks.
The scene opens up to, once again, darkness. The sound of footsteps walking down a hallway is heard. Frankie's voice picks up, and he sounds panicked, very panicked. "Oh no! No! Don't you do it! Don't you fucking do it! Let go of me! Let me out of this thing! Don't! Don't throw me in there! No! Nooooo!" The sound of a metal door slamming shut is heard. Silence falls, and then more footsteps walking in what sounds like the opposite direction can be heard, followed by another door slamming, and then silence.
Finally, light begins to bleed into the darkness, showing a narrow hallway with metal doors on the right and a metal door on the far end. The door on the far end opens, and two figures emerge from it.
One of the figures is a tall man in his mid 50s, balding, with thin grey hair. The other is, well, Cinnamon with her hair down. They are both dressed in all white garb, like doctors. They walk towards the camera. Cinnamon has something in her hand. It looks like a small cup with some pills inside.
"We have his Mental Diagnosis. The patient has been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Delusions of Grandeur, Clinical Depression, Bi-Polar Disorder, as well as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He is prone to acts of violent rage, and even sexual deviancy. We have only recently put him in the cell, after he had tried to attack Police Officers while restrained during a mass murder spree."
They stop in front of a door, and the camera cuts to behind them. Cinnamon looks through a small window on the door, staring at Frankie Cocheese, who is in a corner of the padded room. Frankie's in a straight jacket, with the rest of his attire being his cargo pants and combat boots, what he was arrested in. Frankie has his head lowered, occasionally struggling to get out of the straight jacket. The room is lit with many fluorescent bulbs buzzing overhead.
Cinnamon shakes her head in disappointment. "Sad... How very sad..."
The Doctor nods in agreement. "Just give him those pills. They will sedate him for a while. They may not work right away, but when they do, he will be out like a light."
Cinnamon nods and opens the large metal door while the doctor steps away. She steps into the padded room while the door closes behind her and stares down at Frankie.
"Mr. Cocheese? Mr. Cocheese."
Frankie looks up, and the first thing he takes notice of, if the fans remember, are those beautiful and big fake breasts of hers against that top. He laughs at her. "Here for my medicine, huh? I tell you what, you unbutton a few buttons of that top and that'll be all the medicine I need..."
Cinnamon smirks, starting to do so and telling Frankie. "I want to put my fucking tits in your face!" It appears to be some kind of lucid dream, however, as it cuts to Cinnamon standing there just as she was, rolling her eyes. She gets down on her knees and bringing the cup to his lips. He turns his head away, but she forces him to look at her with one hand on his head while the other brings the cup to his lips. She makes him swallow the pills and steps out of the room, with Frankie laughing as she walks out. The metal door slams shut once again.
The camera cuts to Frankie's right, with Frankie further back in the shot. Frankie slowly gets up, "It's workin... and I don't mean the medicine..." He turns to look at the padded wall that serves to be the camera. "You're all upset now, aren't you, Max? Hah hah hah hah! Oooh... It's brilliant..." He shakes his head.
Those combat boots of his stomp their way to the wall, with Frankie looking directly into the camera. He struggles some more to break the straight jacket, but alas. "You're all upset, yellin and screamin in your hospital bed, looking like some kind of walking corpse with that look in your eyes. That's great. Ranting to some nurse like you're going to come out of that bed and smack her a good one. Man... you really are as crazy as me. But I tell you one thing, like I told you before... You're stupid."
He starts to bang his head at the camera now, but the camera doesn't budge and his head bounces off of it like he's hitting one of the pads in the room.
"Stupid! Stupid! STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID!" With each utterance of the word, he bangs his head against the wall, then steps back and laughs.
"You think I'd slaughter all those people like cattle?! For real?! No! No... I'd just rather make them suffer, and I know exactly how I'm going to make them suffer." He nods knowingly. "I'm going to make them suffer by splitting your damn head open in front of them all in Birmingham! Oh yes I am!" His eyes widen, lips grinning with glee. "I'm going to make them all suffer because everybody's favorite MADMAN is going to be everybody's favorite DEADMAN! You're already half-way there, anyway, from the looks of you!" He snickers.
"Try as you might, Max, but you're going to FALL! And it's going to be by MY hand! I won't need the help of Garland. As a matter of fact, I need to have my own word with him about all this! So you can try to make that man pay all you want. You two can put each other through a wood chipper for all I care but the fact of the matter is, you won't get to do that because you'll have to get through ME! And I'd rather DIE than let that happen!" Frankie shakes some more, trying to break out of the straight jacket. "GRRAAAAHHHHH!"
He gives up, hanging his head for a moment. Silence now, save for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above. He body shakes as he begins to swell with laughter. "Hmhmhmhmhmhm.... Heh heh heh heh heh heh..." He throws his head back. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! MAXWELL! You think I'm some scary movie brought to life?! Well you're right! Because just like in the movies, I'm going to terrorize you until it's my time to STRIKE! And when I strike I will bring down all the terror and destruction I have had follow me my whole career straight down on that greasy head of yours! You think I kill for FUN?! No... I torture my opponents for fun, before they get sent down to the canvas with the Toe Tagger. See..."
Frankie closes his eyes, smiling as if he's trying to think happy thoughts to make himself forget he's in this padded cell with no plan of him exiting in sight. He opens his eyes, "You can say I need guns to bring to our match and you're right! The only guns I need are my two fists and you can ask anybody who has ever stepped in the ring with me before. See, Maxwell... You better get used to that hospital bed, you better get used to the staff at the hospital, because come the 16th, I'm checking your ass into it again myself! This fight isn't going to last in the ring. We both know that! I will say this, intent does matter! And I intend on putting your ass in that pine box! You want HOLDS?! I should make you pass out to the Cocheese clutch! I should make you slowly fade in my arms until you pass out in your own PISS! PISS! HAHAHAHA!"
He squeezes his eyes shut, like that word just now is one of the funniest words on the planet to him. "Words, man. Words. I promise to be a martyr. You're right. You're going to make due on my promise to be a martyr, because like I told you before, you're a stepping stone. You're a stepping stone on my Contest of Conquest. Piss. Martyr. Holds. I've got plenty of other words. Words that'll upset you as I already have. Ooo, you're so upset aren't you? So pissed off by my last video. Now you see, by it, that I can say and do what I want. I can say whatever words I want because I've been SET FREE! I can say what I want! I can say what I feel about you! And I feel that you're a punk! That you're a pussy! That you're a faggot! HAHA! Oooh! Faggot. Faggot. Faggot faggot faggot FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT! HAHAHAHA! WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT! WHAT ARE ANY OF YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?! NOTHING! BECAUSE I AM FREE! I may not look it now, but I'm set free!" He starts to sing, part of a freedom song that he's heard from a choir, but their own version of it. "My body's in prison but my miiiiiind... stayed on freedom! My body's in prison but my miiiiiiieeeeiiiiiind... staaayed on freedom! my body's in prison but my miiiiiind... Stayed on freedom! Hallelu! Hallelu! Halleluuuuuuujah!"
His now bloodshot eyes peer at the camera. "It's insanity! Isn't it? That's what it's been about this whole week! Insanity! I'll tell you what's insane! It's insane that some 12 year old girl and some ditzy blonde were the main event last time! It's insane that when you and I butcher each other, there's another match after that, with my old buddy Frank Washington and his bitchy wife against some terrorist and that 12 year old looking bitch Arty Kaiser again! But who am I, huh? Who am I to deny them their spot. Good for them, right? Heh heh heh heh. They better hold onto it while it lasts, because like I've been warning everyone for months, I'm going to run things. Heh heh heh heh... HAH HAH HAH HAAAAAAAAA!" He steps backwards now, then turns a little to face the wall on the left. He staggers backwards while trying to escape his confines. He slumps against the wall on the right, slowly sliding down it onto his ass. His legs sprawl out. The camera fixes in front of him, but he's not dead center. He's slightly off to the right. "The buzzing! It won't stop! It won't!"
He looks up at the fluorescent lightbulbs, staring at them as if he's mesmerized. Audio is played, dialogue from Cinnamon earlier. "I want to put my fucking tits in your face!" Then of himself. "I'm a motherfucking MARTYR!" "How very sad..." "The patient has been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder" It all soon becomes an audible mess. The camera begins to spin around the room, at times focusing on the lights above and on Frankie slumped against the wall looking up in a daze. He's standing in the room at one point, directly in the center with the camera angle as it was before, on the far wall. The camera spins in all these different shots.
"I want to put my fucking tits in your face!I'm a motherfucking MARTYR!How very sad...Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."
"fuckingtitsinyourfacemotherfuckingmartyr!saddelusionsofgrandeurmyfingersohgodNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOclinicaldepressionVerysad...mentaldiagnosisMOTHERFUCKINGMARTYR!"
"fuckingtitsinyourfacemotherfuckingmartyr!NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOsaddelusionsofgrandeurmyfingersohgod clinicaldepressionVerysad...mentaldiagnosisMOTHERFUCKINGMARTYR!"
"fuckingtitsinyourfacemotherfuckingmartyr!sadNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOdelusionsofgrandeurmyfingersohgod bipolardisorderVerysad...mentaldiagnosisMOTHERFUCKINGMARTYR!"
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The camera now cuts back to Frankie, slumped and slightly off center from the camera, looking up at the lights. All of a sudden, his facial expression does a very fast change. His eyes widen and his face is emotionless, like some kind of ruthless killer. Nothing is heard but the buzzing of the lights. The buzzing that just won't stop.
"..... See you when I see you, Maxwell..."
The scene fades.
The fireplace is shown once again, showing the boy that was shot in the previous video standing just as he was before next to Cinnamon, who holds her wine and is dressed in the same gorgeous Gothic-Victorian dress. Music is playing softly in the background; a Victorian Age sounding piece from Ian Whitcomb titled The Merry Widow Waltz.
"It seems like our little Cocheese has further descended into madness. But if I know him like I do, I know his Mental Diagnosis is that he is ready for the 16th. He is ready for Maxwell and he is ready for the 16th. As always, he will walk away with a few scars, but he will walk away." She puts her free hand in the center of her chest. "Who am I? Well... I am just an admirer from afar, just as you all are. And I am a reminder that his murderous spree and his confinement in an asylum is fiction. Which is something that I don't believe Maxwell has quite understood yet. Something that some of you may not understand yet." She tilts her head to her right. "Aww, Maxwell. What's the matter, sweetheart? Are you having trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality? It is just like Frankie has said before, insanity. It is being unable to distinguish fantasy from reality. But the great fans of RWD will be able to see the reality of Frankie Cocheese emerging victorious on the 16th." She brings her wine glass to her lips and takes a sip. "Mmh! Well. Thank you for joining us on Cocheese Theatre. I am the lovely Ms. Fitzgerald and I bid you... farewell..."
She takes a sip from her glass once more while the scene becomes black and white and takes the filter of movies from the early 1930s, before changing to the word "FIN" in bold white font while the filter remains.
FIN
so quickly so sad!
