Post by Frankie Cocheese on Jan 9, 2015 8:21:16 GMT
Cold. Ball biting cold. Freezing cold. Frigid. Cold that someone like Frankie Cocheese might describe as "cold as fuck" or "colder than a witch's tit." It's a clear, but cold day in Kansas City, Missouri. Frankie isn't out on the town. Frankie isn't having fun with some trophy wife as his arm candy, meeting up with some good friend of his in some hole in the wall wrestling bar, no. Frankie's in the blistering cold, sitting in a car with a leather interior. He has a grey hoodie on, the hoodie pulled up over his head. The driver's side window cracked open, which may bring one to wonder why he would do such in the freezing weather until he brings a cigarette up to his lips, takes a puff and flicks some ashes out of the crack. The camera is pointed as if somebody's sitting in the passenger seat looking at him.
He appears parked on the side of a road, as cars are whizzing past his. Music is heard while Frankie just stares out through the windshield, face holding a stern expression. The music has heavy bass, and to the trained ear in Chicago's Drill Music scene, it's Lil Bibby & Lil Herb's "Kill Shit."
Drill Music. What is that? What does it mean? In Chicago, Drill is slang for a murder. When someone says they're going to do drills, they're going to do murders. Frankie's listening to murder music, and one could assume by looking at him that his mind is on it. His mind isn't on murder, per se, but the music is amping him up, like he wants to make his next opponent suffer in the worst way possible.
Frankie takes one last drag from his cigarette, bringing it to a nub. He flicks it out the crack of the window, the cigarette and orange-red sparks of ash flies to the pavement as he rolls up the window.
A smile breaks his unsympathetic expression and he starts to laugh a little. "Scotty Addams... Boy I tell ya..."
With a shake of his head, he moves to turn the key, the car must've just been running on battery to keep the music and the heat going. He turns down the music a little so he can be heard.
"You've got some nerve in you, boy." He says as he turns his wheel to the left a little, leaning forward to look out his window with his right arm draped over the top of the wheel. He cuts his turn signal to the left. It can be heard ticking as he pulls out onto the street and starts driving.
"First of all, you push all this free agent stuff and then try to cut in line out of the blue to take a shot at me. Second of all, you should know better than to cut a promo where you did." He rolls his eyes, disgusted with the fact that Scotty filmed his promo where he did. The nerve of him! Free publicity for the big leagues, eh?
A female computerized voice tells him that in 300 feet he needs to make a left turn at a certain road. He cuts on his left turn signal and continues to speak. "But let's talk about the first part. That's what I'm here to talk about. You can cut your promos in the bathroom of a gay bar for all I really care." He makes his turn, the voice telling him to continue straight for a few miles. "Let's talk about the fact that you're cutting in line and nobody has even really noticed it. Let's talk about the fact that you're #4 on the power top 10 and you haven't done a single thing here but come around and say hey I'm here and I challenge Cocheese." He turns to the camera, pointing at it and saying with conviction, "You're wrong for that and you know it." He watches the road now, the music dying down to silence, with nothing coming on after it. "When I first debuted, I was looked at as somebody to watch, and people even doubted that! While you debut, and you jump up in spot over guys that deserved it more! Hell even Maxwell Schneider deserves a higher spot, and I despise the guy! At least he picked up a win! But you just come in all..." Frankie puffs out his chest while driving, making an O face and talking in a voice like he's trying to imitate Scotty. "Oh I picked my spot! I picked my person and that's you!" He relaxes his body, but his face shows signs of annoyance. "You're damn RIGHT you've picked your spot!" He glares at the camera. "You cherry picked your spot. Didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?!" Over his shouting, the female voice tells him he needs to make a right soon. He looks back to the road, coming to a stop and flicking on his turn signal to go right. After a while, he's going to need to make another right again, so sayeth the GPS lady! "You cherry picked your spot. You're coming in and you're trying to take MY spot! And you sit there and got the nerve to call me FRIEND?! You know what a friend would do, Scotty?" He lets that hang, as if he wants Scotty himself to answer that. "A friend would support me, hang back, let me do my thing and become the FIRST RWD WORLD CHAMPION! But you can't see that, can you? You don't WANT to see that! Y'know somethin...?"
He turns to the camera again, leaning his head back while his eyes go half lidded. He wags his finger at the camera. "A lot of people want to see me fall. They've always wanted to see me fall. They wanted to see me fall in DC growing up where I did 'cause they thought just because I'm white I had higher privileges." His focus turns to the road. "They thought down in Knoxville that I should fall 'cause they didn't agree with what I'm saying, and I steamrolled everybody and took two belts. Now that I'm in the RWD, they want to see me fall because they see all the points that I'm getting and they're getting jealous. They know I'm a shoe in for the title now. YOU know I'm a shoe in for the title now, and it's getting to you. It's obviously getting to you because one of your Joker's Wild buddies is actually getting ahead and you want to come in and try to put a STOP to him? Come ON! Y'know, Scotty, you can sit there and paint yourself as a friend to me in front of everybody but we both know, we were never really friends. We never really hung out. You never came through to my hood. And as much as you don't want to admit it, you thought the Joker's Wild was all about you. I mean, really. Everybody's seen that petition that went online. We all know it was you who made it. You're trying to rally us all together. For what reason, I don't know. But you had the nerve to write on that petition that YOU were the leader of the Joker's Wild!" The voice tells him that his next right is coming up soon. "If anything, Drew Stevenson should've been the leader but let me tell you something. Let me tell you something about the Joker's Wild, because you've obviously forgotten." He makes his right while in mid sentence, a left is coming up after a while. "The Joker's Wild was about four guys who were pissed off at all the lies and corruption going on in the back in this business. Four guys who had enough and spoke what we really felt. Then what do you do? You talk about talking to management and making yourself a SWEET deal and all of a sudden, you're in the top spot, the MAIN EVENT, against me. Hell a guy like Prince Assad deserves more main event spots and he's a goddamn terrorist that I hope gets destroyed during his Jihad. You really want to prove that you're hungry? You want to prove that you can go and that you really want this? Work your way up the ladder and earn points just like I did. Don't piggyback off my ass."
He shakes his head in disbelief. "Geez. You've really got some gall to say that you've got even more to lose going up against me. You're just STARTING OUT here! You're just starting out here and already you've kissed ass with management, going against the beliefs that the Joker's were formed on in the first place, and earned yourself a main event spot for the sole purpose of trying to stop a friend's momentum, and to try to make everyone realize you're relevant again." He makes his left and the voice tells him that his destination is coming up soon. He pulls over now, parking and letting the engine run while he goes to light up another cigarette. "I really gotta quit these things. I've been doing really good, y'know. Instead of smoking packs a week, and then a pack a month, I'm down to a pack every few months and soon I'll be set free of this shit too. Heh." He puts the cigarette to his lips and pushes the cigarette lighter, waiting for it to light up in a few moments and then brings it to the tip of his cigarette, taking a puff and putting the lighter back with a metallic click. He rolls down his window just a crack again, speaking with the cigarette between his lips. "You say you respect me, but you got a really fuckin funny way of showing it. I'm just really glad that your wife convinced you to return to the sport." He puts both hands over his heart, "Touching, isn't it? She'll get to nurse you after I send your broken body back to her..." He shakes his head and flicks the cigarette's ashes out the window. He turns to face the camera fully now.
"You remember the first time we went at it, Scotty? You remember the buildup? You remember what happened? I went all around the streets of Chicago, lookin for your ass." He brings up his cigarette to take another puff but instead leaves it hanging off his lip again. "I should've looked in the hills for your spoiled ass, Mr. Silver Spoon obviously getting everything he wants handed to him without earnin it like the rest of us." He takes a long, slow drag. The end of the cigarette burns red hot. He exhales and continues. "Well I went out looking for you in these streets before and now I invite you to do the same, Scotty! I'm out in these streets, and I urge you to find me, Scotty! You're gonna know exactly where I'm at in a few moments. So I urge you to come find me. And just one more thing before I head out here."
He pauses, staring blankly at the camera. "..... You really wearin a Green Power Ranger dog tag? Are you serious? You really think I should take anything you say seriously when you got somethin like that on? I bet you got White Power Ranger underwear on too, huh? Ever hear of the Brown Ranger? He's gonna debut after I Toe Tag your ass while you're wearing your White Power Ranger undies. The Green Ranger..." He scoffs. "But speaking of green... I'm heading to the house of somebody who knows about the color green..."
He flicks his cigarette out even though it was half done and checks his mirror before pulling out again. "See you when I see you..." He motions to the camera with his right hand in the form of a gun, looking to the camera briefly before turning to the road. The camera focuses now through the windshield, showing an huge, white estate a ways past a gate with each end of the black gate attached to stone walls. There's a gold plaque that reads 'STEVENSON' on the left side of the wall. The gate opens and they drive on through, with Frankie parking whatever car he's driving and getting out, the camera following him. Frankie rings the doorbell and Drew Stevenson arrives, wearing an emerald colored robe and greeting Frankie with a smile. He tells Frankie to come on in, and the camera cuts now to the two of them having a beer, relaxing while watching an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where, ironically, Larry is lecturing a woman about cutting in line.
The scene fades to black.
He appears parked on the side of a road, as cars are whizzing past his. Music is heard while Frankie just stares out through the windshield, face holding a stern expression. The music has heavy bass, and to the trained ear in Chicago's Drill Music scene, it's Lil Bibby & Lil Herb's "Kill Shit."
Drill Music. What is that? What does it mean? In Chicago, Drill is slang for a murder. When someone says they're going to do drills, they're going to do murders. Frankie's listening to murder music, and one could assume by looking at him that his mind is on it. His mind isn't on murder, per se, but the music is amping him up, like he wants to make his next opponent suffer in the worst way possible.
Frankie takes one last drag from his cigarette, bringing it to a nub. He flicks it out the crack of the window, the cigarette and orange-red sparks of ash flies to the pavement as he rolls up the window.
A smile breaks his unsympathetic expression and he starts to laugh a little. "Scotty Addams... Boy I tell ya..."
With a shake of his head, he moves to turn the key, the car must've just been running on battery to keep the music and the heat going. He turns down the music a little so he can be heard.
"You've got some nerve in you, boy." He says as he turns his wheel to the left a little, leaning forward to look out his window with his right arm draped over the top of the wheel. He cuts his turn signal to the left. It can be heard ticking as he pulls out onto the street and starts driving.
"First of all, you push all this free agent stuff and then try to cut in line out of the blue to take a shot at me. Second of all, you should know better than to cut a promo where you did." He rolls his eyes, disgusted with the fact that Scotty filmed his promo where he did. The nerve of him! Free publicity for the big leagues, eh?
A female computerized voice tells him that in 300 feet he needs to make a left turn at a certain road. He cuts on his left turn signal and continues to speak. "But let's talk about the first part. That's what I'm here to talk about. You can cut your promos in the bathroom of a gay bar for all I really care." He makes his turn, the voice telling him to continue straight for a few miles. "Let's talk about the fact that you're cutting in line and nobody has even really noticed it. Let's talk about the fact that you're #4 on the power top 10 and you haven't done a single thing here but come around and say hey I'm here and I challenge Cocheese." He turns to the camera, pointing at it and saying with conviction, "You're wrong for that and you know it." He watches the road now, the music dying down to silence, with nothing coming on after it. "When I first debuted, I was looked at as somebody to watch, and people even doubted that! While you debut, and you jump up in spot over guys that deserved it more! Hell even Maxwell Schneider deserves a higher spot, and I despise the guy! At least he picked up a win! But you just come in all..." Frankie puffs out his chest while driving, making an O face and talking in a voice like he's trying to imitate Scotty. "Oh I picked my spot! I picked my person and that's you!" He relaxes his body, but his face shows signs of annoyance. "You're damn RIGHT you've picked your spot!" He glares at the camera. "You cherry picked your spot. Didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?!" Over his shouting, the female voice tells him he needs to make a right soon. He looks back to the road, coming to a stop and flicking on his turn signal to go right. After a while, he's going to need to make another right again, so sayeth the GPS lady! "You cherry picked your spot. You're coming in and you're trying to take MY spot! And you sit there and got the nerve to call me FRIEND?! You know what a friend would do, Scotty?" He lets that hang, as if he wants Scotty himself to answer that. "A friend would support me, hang back, let me do my thing and become the FIRST RWD WORLD CHAMPION! But you can't see that, can you? You don't WANT to see that! Y'know somethin...?"
He turns to the camera again, leaning his head back while his eyes go half lidded. He wags his finger at the camera. "A lot of people want to see me fall. They've always wanted to see me fall. They wanted to see me fall in DC growing up where I did 'cause they thought just because I'm white I had higher privileges." His focus turns to the road. "They thought down in Knoxville that I should fall 'cause they didn't agree with what I'm saying, and I steamrolled everybody and took two belts. Now that I'm in the RWD, they want to see me fall because they see all the points that I'm getting and they're getting jealous. They know I'm a shoe in for the title now. YOU know I'm a shoe in for the title now, and it's getting to you. It's obviously getting to you because one of your Joker's Wild buddies is actually getting ahead and you want to come in and try to put a STOP to him? Come ON! Y'know, Scotty, you can sit there and paint yourself as a friend to me in front of everybody but we both know, we were never really friends. We never really hung out. You never came through to my hood. And as much as you don't want to admit it, you thought the Joker's Wild was all about you. I mean, really. Everybody's seen that petition that went online. We all know it was you who made it. You're trying to rally us all together. For what reason, I don't know. But you had the nerve to write on that petition that YOU were the leader of the Joker's Wild!" The voice tells him that his next right is coming up soon. "If anything, Drew Stevenson should've been the leader but let me tell you something. Let me tell you something about the Joker's Wild, because you've obviously forgotten." He makes his right while in mid sentence, a left is coming up after a while. "The Joker's Wild was about four guys who were pissed off at all the lies and corruption going on in the back in this business. Four guys who had enough and spoke what we really felt. Then what do you do? You talk about talking to management and making yourself a SWEET deal and all of a sudden, you're in the top spot, the MAIN EVENT, against me. Hell a guy like Prince Assad deserves more main event spots and he's a goddamn terrorist that I hope gets destroyed during his Jihad. You really want to prove that you're hungry? You want to prove that you can go and that you really want this? Work your way up the ladder and earn points just like I did. Don't piggyback off my ass."
He shakes his head in disbelief. "Geez. You've really got some gall to say that you've got even more to lose going up against me. You're just STARTING OUT here! You're just starting out here and already you've kissed ass with management, going against the beliefs that the Joker's were formed on in the first place, and earned yourself a main event spot for the sole purpose of trying to stop a friend's momentum, and to try to make everyone realize you're relevant again." He makes his left and the voice tells him that his destination is coming up soon. He pulls over now, parking and letting the engine run while he goes to light up another cigarette. "I really gotta quit these things. I've been doing really good, y'know. Instead of smoking packs a week, and then a pack a month, I'm down to a pack every few months and soon I'll be set free of this shit too. Heh." He puts the cigarette to his lips and pushes the cigarette lighter, waiting for it to light up in a few moments and then brings it to the tip of his cigarette, taking a puff and putting the lighter back with a metallic click. He rolls down his window just a crack again, speaking with the cigarette between his lips. "You say you respect me, but you got a really fuckin funny way of showing it. I'm just really glad that your wife convinced you to return to the sport." He puts both hands over his heart, "Touching, isn't it? She'll get to nurse you after I send your broken body back to her..." He shakes his head and flicks the cigarette's ashes out the window. He turns to face the camera fully now.
"You remember the first time we went at it, Scotty? You remember the buildup? You remember what happened? I went all around the streets of Chicago, lookin for your ass." He brings up his cigarette to take another puff but instead leaves it hanging off his lip again. "I should've looked in the hills for your spoiled ass, Mr. Silver Spoon obviously getting everything he wants handed to him without earnin it like the rest of us." He takes a long, slow drag. The end of the cigarette burns red hot. He exhales and continues. "Well I went out looking for you in these streets before and now I invite you to do the same, Scotty! I'm out in these streets, and I urge you to find me, Scotty! You're gonna know exactly where I'm at in a few moments. So I urge you to come find me. And just one more thing before I head out here."
He pauses, staring blankly at the camera. "..... You really wearin a Green Power Ranger dog tag? Are you serious? You really think I should take anything you say seriously when you got somethin like that on? I bet you got White Power Ranger underwear on too, huh? Ever hear of the Brown Ranger? He's gonna debut after I Toe Tag your ass while you're wearing your White Power Ranger undies. The Green Ranger..." He scoffs. "But speaking of green... I'm heading to the house of somebody who knows about the color green..."
He flicks his cigarette out even though it was half done and checks his mirror before pulling out again. "See you when I see you..." He motions to the camera with his right hand in the form of a gun, looking to the camera briefly before turning to the road. The camera focuses now through the windshield, showing an huge, white estate a ways past a gate with each end of the black gate attached to stone walls. There's a gold plaque that reads 'STEVENSON' on the left side of the wall. The gate opens and they drive on through, with Frankie parking whatever car he's driving and getting out, the camera following him. Frankie rings the doorbell and Drew Stevenson arrives, wearing an emerald colored robe and greeting Frankie with a smile. He tells Frankie to come on in, and the camera cuts now to the two of them having a beer, relaxing while watching an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where, ironically, Larry is lecturing a woman about cutting in line.
The scene fades to black.
People don't like assholes who cut in line...
so quickly so sad!
