Post by Frankie Cocheese on Nov 26, 2014 15:57:02 GMT
The buzzing of a fluorescent tube is heard as the picture fades in from darkness to focus on a pair of light tubes shining brightly while fixed on a white ceiling. The shot pans down to reveal a brick wall painted white and a concrete floor. There is a single, black steel chair propped open in the center of the shot with a person sitting upon it. The person has on a grey hoodie with the hood pulled over their head, unzipped to reveal a plain white t-shirt. The person raises their head. It's Frankie Cocheese. Completing his attire; a white bandana wrapped around the top of his head, denim jeans and white skate shoes with black trim.
Frankie Cocheese is wringing his hands, "Are you proud of me?" He starts to laugh at his own question. "Said I wouldn't amount to shit, but here I am now. Are you proud of me, Ma?" His hands stop moving. "I made a liar out of him. He's right. I really did. I told him. I told him this whole time and now he sees it. He sees that I'm more of a madman than him. Mama are you proud of me?" He laughs some more. "Are you proud of me, RWD fans and roster alike? HUH?! YOU PROUD OF ME?!" He shakes his head. "I don't give a SHIT if you're proud of me! See I don't do this for people's enjoyment! I do this..." Both of his forefingers jab into his chest repeatedly. "For my OWN gratification! I do this for my OWN wants and needs! Greed... We all got it. The people boo me. They say I'm greedy. They say I only care about myself. WELL THEY'RE RIGHT!" He eyes the camera after screaming into it. "... but they're also wrong. See, I care about myself, but I also care about my own. I have people. I have loyalty. Something that a lot of these people..." He waves his left hand's forefinger around. "Know NOTHING ABOUT! Something that Maxwell Schneider knows nothing about! The only loyalty he pays is to himself! I pay loyalty to my boys. My CITY! I exposed him for the liar that he is and I will CONTINUE to!" Frankie just stares at the camera now, silent. He lowers his head, pulling the hood down from it.
He places his hands on the sides of his head, fingertips almost clutching the white cloth of the bandana. "Evil incarnate... heh heh heh..." He looks up with a grin on his lips. "He thinks I'm evil incarnate... He doesn't know how RIGHT he is! I am a diseased dog! I am an EVIL that is spreading in RWD! And come put me down, Maxwell..."
He stands up immediately, spreading his hands out. He pleads with Maxwell. "COME PUT ME DOWN!... But you can't. See..." He wags his right forefinger at the camera. "Yoooou... You don't have it in you, man. I've told you before and I'm here to tell you again. You don't have it in you..."
He tilts his head slowly to his right. "Or maybe you don't know how wrong you are... Maybe I don't have evil intentions. Maybe I'm not an evil that's spreading. Maybe I'm not a diseased dog. Maybe....." He looks upward, tapping on his chin, and then puts his hand up and his eyes widen like a lightbulb went on in his head. "Maybe... I'm just neutrality. Maybe I'm just neutral. Maybe I just have the same basic thoughts. Ideas. INSTINCTS!..... That others have. That EVERYONE has!... And that's to look out for my best interests for me and my own... Heh..."
He makes his way back to the chair and sits down. "I've been hearing these words tossed around a lot. Rivalries. Feuds. How our business is focused on two men with a grudge. Two men with an axe to grind..." He nods in agreement. "But some of you wonder, what is my beef with Maxwell? What is my axe to grind? Well, like I said before... I've wanted to fight him since day one. Because he... well..." He licks his lips, smiling soon after. "He's not what he says he is. I knew that. I always knew it. And the people know now, whether they want to admit it or not. Maxwell knows that now, whether he wants to admit it or not. He's not a madman, and I exposed him for the liar that he is. He's got this whole spiel about having papers, a clean bill of health. He wonders where mine is. Cute. It's all cute. But what he fails to realize is..." He leans forward in the chair, placing his elbows on his knees. The camera zooms in on his face. "... I am what he says I am. I'm a nut. I don't need papers to prove it, or to prove that I'm not. Everything I do in the ring speaks for itself." He calmly leans back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest as the camera zooms out to capture this.
"He's not what he says he is. But what he needs to realize, as it's already been told to him, is that he's not good. He's a nut too, or he claims to be, but he's not good. He's just beatin on whoever the people don't like. Without talking in circles and just saying what's already been said, he's not good, and he's not a nut, he's just... not all there, you know what I'm saying? He's kind of... slow." He shrugs, not seeming to care. "But what do I know, right? I'm a madman. I'm a... DISEASE... as he likes to put it. And that's fine, you know why? Because diseases are NEUTRAL! They don't CARE!" He springs forward in his seat now, face in the camera. "They can't be reasoned with! They can only be eradicated! And you don't have the cure, Max!" He beats his head each time against the camera's lens as he speaks. "YOU. DON'T. HAVE. THE. CURE!" The wound on his forehead received from his last match at SNC, the one covered by the forehead, begins to bleed. A pool of red forms against the white cloth. "Heh heh heh heh! You want to try to put me away, but you couldn't. You are not the madman. YOU ARE NOT THE CURE! I'm the diseased ridden madman and try as you might, you just can't put me away! I annoy you because you look at me and you see what you DESIRE to be. You see what you TRY to be but you can't! Instead, you soak in the admiration of the people and that's what's going to be your downfall." He shakes his bleeding head ruefully.
"What a shame... And again, you're not saying much, just like before... What a bore." He laughs as he just realizes something. "You know what else is a bore? The fact that the main event at From The Ashes is a 12 year old girl and Magilla Gorilla in a 30 minute match. Wow. You know, a part of me is kinda upset at the fact that I'm not main eventing, but another part of me is so glad that my match is before hand, so that I can leave and not have to sit through that monstrosity. If, somehow, and I highly doubt it, but somehow I get hit from behind by one of these two goofs in my match and they manage to put me out, at least I don't have to sit through those two 'ladies' and I use that term loosely... battling it out. I think I'd rather be in a coma for 30 minutes than suffer through that." His face wrinkles in disgust. "Max isn't saying much, but you know who's not saying anything at all?" He asks, then immediately answers. "Konstantine. I'd say that's smart of him, but it's really not. Why? Because he has an interest, y'see. He said it before himself, he was watching and waiting for my match with Maxwell on the last Sunday Night Combat because he has an obsession. He wanted to watch and see if I could do what he COULDN'T do, and of course, I did... I put away Maxwell Schneider and now he just wants to imitate me and my accomplishment by trying to put him away AND at the same time put me away. Heh. The only time you could EVER put me away, Konstantine is if you paid me and you can't pay me ENOUGH right now because just like I told Maxwell, I am a disease and I'm going to rip through you too!"
He leans forward in his chair, with his elbows on his knees again and he starts to wring his hands just like he did at the start. "Konstantine likes to call himself the King. King of what, exactly? The King of disappointments? The King of failure? Or maybe it's the King of silence, as he's been staying quiet throughout this whole ordeal... Regardless. Let me quote Omar from The Wire and say when you come at the King, you best not miss. And I won't. Trust me, I won't."
He runs his tongue over his teeth while crossing his arms and leaning back. The front legs of the chair kick up in the air a little. He suckles on his teeth audibly. "The Last King. That's your name. That's funny because you don't know how right you are. You will be the LAST King the RWD ever sees, and I'm going to take your crown! And I'm not going to wear it." He shakes his head. "Oh no. I'm going to meld it down into jewelry and try to sell that shit, or put it on bitches like Cinnamon so they can go flaunt it! 'Cause I don't give a shit about you OR your Kinghood, your crown! To put it shortly, Konstantine, I beat Maxwell and he beat you, so what the fuck you think? Huh?! What the fuck you think is gonna happen?!" A slight pause. "Exactly...!"
He takes a moment to look around him. "I had this big plan. This big plan to make things cinematic, to make things specTACULAR this week but I decided... fuck all that shit. Because this is me..." He spreads his hands out wide. "All this! This is Cocheese in the raw! Just me, this room, this camera and this chair!... My words. All my words. It's what I do. I talk shit, and then I back it up. And that's exactly what I plan to do next Sunday at From The Ashes."
He bows his head once more. "People and their acronyms... They like to call this show FTA..." He looks up now. "They might as well call this show Fuck That Ass because just like my allegory, I'm going to get in y'alls asses like a suppository! No homo. And there. There's a rhyme for ya. Cuz it's always Freestyle wheneverthehellIwantday! Just me in the raw. I've dominated all over. Mr. International. I've dominated the south. I AM the south! I AM the RWD. I'm Cocheese and I. AM. WRESTLING! Hah hah!... And I'm disease ridden. Come put me down, the two of you! Hah hah hah hah! COME PUT ME DOWN!"
He smiles widely. "Cocheese..." He winks his left eye while making a clicking motion with his tongue and that same side of his mouth. "See you when I see you. I'm out..."
The camera zooms out and fades to black on his form as he just stares, wringing his hands once more.
Frankie Cocheese is wringing his hands, "Are you proud of me?" He starts to laugh at his own question. "Said I wouldn't amount to shit, but here I am now. Are you proud of me, Ma?" His hands stop moving. "I made a liar out of him. He's right. I really did. I told him. I told him this whole time and now he sees it. He sees that I'm more of a madman than him. Mama are you proud of me?" He laughs some more. "Are you proud of me, RWD fans and roster alike? HUH?! YOU PROUD OF ME?!" He shakes his head. "I don't give a SHIT if you're proud of me! See I don't do this for people's enjoyment! I do this..." Both of his forefingers jab into his chest repeatedly. "For my OWN gratification! I do this for my OWN wants and needs! Greed... We all got it. The people boo me. They say I'm greedy. They say I only care about myself. WELL THEY'RE RIGHT!" He eyes the camera after screaming into it. "... but they're also wrong. See, I care about myself, but I also care about my own. I have people. I have loyalty. Something that a lot of these people..." He waves his left hand's forefinger around. "Know NOTHING ABOUT! Something that Maxwell Schneider knows nothing about! The only loyalty he pays is to himself! I pay loyalty to my boys. My CITY! I exposed him for the liar that he is and I will CONTINUE to!" Frankie just stares at the camera now, silent. He lowers his head, pulling the hood down from it.
He places his hands on the sides of his head, fingertips almost clutching the white cloth of the bandana. "Evil incarnate... heh heh heh..." He looks up with a grin on his lips. "He thinks I'm evil incarnate... He doesn't know how RIGHT he is! I am a diseased dog! I am an EVIL that is spreading in RWD! And come put me down, Maxwell..."
He stands up immediately, spreading his hands out. He pleads with Maxwell. "COME PUT ME DOWN!... But you can't. See..." He wags his right forefinger at the camera. "Yoooou... You don't have it in you, man. I've told you before and I'm here to tell you again. You don't have it in you..."
He tilts his head slowly to his right. "Or maybe you don't know how wrong you are... Maybe I don't have evil intentions. Maybe I'm not an evil that's spreading. Maybe I'm not a diseased dog. Maybe....." He looks upward, tapping on his chin, and then puts his hand up and his eyes widen like a lightbulb went on in his head. "Maybe... I'm just neutrality. Maybe I'm just neutral. Maybe I just have the same basic thoughts. Ideas. INSTINCTS!..... That others have. That EVERYONE has!... And that's to look out for my best interests for me and my own... Heh..."
He makes his way back to the chair and sits down. "I've been hearing these words tossed around a lot. Rivalries. Feuds. How our business is focused on two men with a grudge. Two men with an axe to grind..." He nods in agreement. "But some of you wonder, what is my beef with Maxwell? What is my axe to grind? Well, like I said before... I've wanted to fight him since day one. Because he... well..." He licks his lips, smiling soon after. "He's not what he says he is. I knew that. I always knew it. And the people know now, whether they want to admit it or not. Maxwell knows that now, whether he wants to admit it or not. He's not a madman, and I exposed him for the liar that he is. He's got this whole spiel about having papers, a clean bill of health. He wonders where mine is. Cute. It's all cute. But what he fails to realize is..." He leans forward in the chair, placing his elbows on his knees. The camera zooms in on his face. "... I am what he says I am. I'm a nut. I don't need papers to prove it, or to prove that I'm not. Everything I do in the ring speaks for itself." He calmly leans back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest as the camera zooms out to capture this.
"He's not what he says he is. But what he needs to realize, as it's already been told to him, is that he's not good. He's a nut too, or he claims to be, but he's not good. He's just beatin on whoever the people don't like. Without talking in circles and just saying what's already been said, he's not good, and he's not a nut, he's just... not all there, you know what I'm saying? He's kind of... slow." He shrugs, not seeming to care. "But what do I know, right? I'm a madman. I'm a... DISEASE... as he likes to put it. And that's fine, you know why? Because diseases are NEUTRAL! They don't CARE!" He springs forward in his seat now, face in the camera. "They can't be reasoned with! They can only be eradicated! And you don't have the cure, Max!" He beats his head each time against the camera's lens as he speaks. "YOU. DON'T. HAVE. THE. CURE!" The wound on his forehead received from his last match at SNC, the one covered by the forehead, begins to bleed. A pool of red forms against the white cloth. "Heh heh heh heh! You want to try to put me away, but you couldn't. You are not the madman. YOU ARE NOT THE CURE! I'm the diseased ridden madman and try as you might, you just can't put me away! I annoy you because you look at me and you see what you DESIRE to be. You see what you TRY to be but you can't! Instead, you soak in the admiration of the people and that's what's going to be your downfall." He shakes his bleeding head ruefully.
"What a shame... And again, you're not saying much, just like before... What a bore." He laughs as he just realizes something. "You know what else is a bore? The fact that the main event at From The Ashes is a 12 year old girl and Magilla Gorilla in a 30 minute match. Wow. You know, a part of me is kinda upset at the fact that I'm not main eventing, but another part of me is so glad that my match is before hand, so that I can leave and not have to sit through that monstrosity. If, somehow, and I highly doubt it, but somehow I get hit from behind by one of these two goofs in my match and they manage to put me out, at least I don't have to sit through those two 'ladies' and I use that term loosely... battling it out. I think I'd rather be in a coma for 30 minutes than suffer through that." His face wrinkles in disgust. "Max isn't saying much, but you know who's not saying anything at all?" He asks, then immediately answers. "Konstantine. I'd say that's smart of him, but it's really not. Why? Because he has an interest, y'see. He said it before himself, he was watching and waiting for my match with Maxwell on the last Sunday Night Combat because he has an obsession. He wanted to watch and see if I could do what he COULDN'T do, and of course, I did... I put away Maxwell Schneider and now he just wants to imitate me and my accomplishment by trying to put him away AND at the same time put me away. Heh. The only time you could EVER put me away, Konstantine is if you paid me and you can't pay me ENOUGH right now because just like I told Maxwell, I am a disease and I'm going to rip through you too!"
He leans forward in his chair, with his elbows on his knees again and he starts to wring his hands just like he did at the start. "Konstantine likes to call himself the King. King of what, exactly? The King of disappointments? The King of failure? Or maybe it's the King of silence, as he's been staying quiet throughout this whole ordeal... Regardless. Let me quote Omar from The Wire and say when you come at the King, you best not miss. And I won't. Trust me, I won't."
He runs his tongue over his teeth while crossing his arms and leaning back. The front legs of the chair kick up in the air a little. He suckles on his teeth audibly. "The Last King. That's your name. That's funny because you don't know how right you are. You will be the LAST King the RWD ever sees, and I'm going to take your crown! And I'm not going to wear it." He shakes his head. "Oh no. I'm going to meld it down into jewelry and try to sell that shit, or put it on bitches like Cinnamon so they can go flaunt it! 'Cause I don't give a shit about you OR your Kinghood, your crown! To put it shortly, Konstantine, I beat Maxwell and he beat you, so what the fuck you think? Huh?! What the fuck you think is gonna happen?!" A slight pause. "Exactly...!"
He takes a moment to look around him. "I had this big plan. This big plan to make things cinematic, to make things specTACULAR this week but I decided... fuck all that shit. Because this is me..." He spreads his hands out wide. "All this! This is Cocheese in the raw! Just me, this room, this camera and this chair!... My words. All my words. It's what I do. I talk shit, and then I back it up. And that's exactly what I plan to do next Sunday at From The Ashes."
He bows his head once more. "People and their acronyms... They like to call this show FTA..." He looks up now. "They might as well call this show Fuck That Ass because just like my allegory, I'm going to get in y'alls asses like a suppository! No homo. And there. There's a rhyme for ya. Cuz it's always Freestyle wheneverthehellIwantday! Just me in the raw. I've dominated all over. Mr. International. I've dominated the south. I AM the south! I AM the RWD. I'm Cocheese and I. AM. WRESTLING! Hah hah!... And I'm disease ridden. Come put me down, the two of you! Hah hah hah hah! COME PUT ME DOWN!"
He smiles widely. "Cocheese..." He winks his left eye while making a clicking motion with his tongue and that same side of his mouth. "See you when I see you. I'm out..."
The camera zooms out and fades to black on his form as he just stares, wringing his hands once more.
so quickly so sad!
