Post by Chris Jericho on May 12, 2006 19:46:27 GMT -5
After SNME returns from a commercial break, the camera pans over a white facility. It scrolls down, and catches the name of the building: “Tragic Castles”. The camera zooms into the small parking lot, and captures a white Mercedes pulling into the lot, driving at full speed. It skids into a small parking space, barely missing a slow moving Volkswagen. The car beeps, but is countered by a middle finger from the speedy driver. The engine stops, and the driver side door slams open. Out steps a leg, clothed in dark jeans, and is wearing a dark brown boot. The foot hits the gravel, and Chris Jericho exits his car. He steps off of the seat, and stands in the lot, taking a deep breathe. He then exhales. Before leaving his spot, Chris scouts around for unaware drivers who are in the lot. He relaxingly sighs, and then heads out towards the building. He jogs up the steps, and pulls open the heavy metal door. Jericho winces in disgust.
Jericho: “Oh my God! It reeks! Holy shi…… Ok, this is the worst smell I have ever smelt in my entire life. Except for that assclown Boogeyman’s locker room, God damn was that horrible! I am at the Tragic Castles old folks home in South Jersey. Shawn and Nash, I am here to get your room ready. Kevin, wait! Don’t charge the TV, you might tear your quad again! Hahaha! You crack me up Nash. You and you’re silly little quad. But back to seriousness, this is the place where you two are going to end up after tonight. “The Kliq” is dead Shawn. It has been for 11 years. This is just another pathetic attempt to get the spotlight off of me and back onto you. It’s obvious: you are jealous of the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla, the King of the World, the Highlight of the Night, Chris Jericho! Just weeks before my title shot you throw yourself into my spotlight, just to leech some of the light away. Michaels, I used to respect you. Shawn, you would put your body on the line day after day, night after night, just because you loved this business. Now you put your body in other wrestlers’ limelight to soak it up like a sponge. Guess what Shawn, your sponginess just dried up. You can’t soak away my light any more. It’s just a matter of tossing you into the trash, like the shriveled up piece of crap you are. But I won’t be mean and drop you in my trash can, no Shawn, I’m going to let you soak in some water and regain your sponginess. I just need to go get your room so when I force you to retire with “Quad Man” Kevin Nash you don’t have to worry about selling yourselves out for some cash. Shawn don’t even think about bitching to me about your room, I’ve hooked a number of fellas up here, and it’s adequate enough for them. But wait, they are nobodies, you are Shawn Michaels! Well Shawn, listen up. I don’t give a damn if you decide to leave Tragic Castles. Just don’t come inching your way over to me to suck the energy out of my career! Excuse me for a minute; I need to go check in for your room.
Jericho struts over to the counter where a young man sits, typing on a computer. Chris gets his attention, and tells him the details about the room. The clerk says something, and Jericho turns away in anger. In one swift movement, he delivers a cold, hard slap to the clerk.
Jericho: “Son of a bitch! The rooms taken! Well, I guess I can go “clear” it out.”
Jericho walks down the hallway, grimacing at the disgusting elderly who sit and chat about golf and bingo. Chris snickers at an old woman who is being pushed in a wheel chair next to him. He finds the room number, 183, and rudely opens the door. The two men inside are playing checkers, having a nice time. Unfortunately, one is a little slow and the other is hard of hearing.
Jericho: “What the hell are you two doing in my room you assclowns? Get the hell out you old farts!”
Slow guy: “Oh, Phil there’s a young man in our roo….”
Phil: “What? What did you say, Jack?”
Jack: “I said there is a young man in our room. I think he wants to know what we’re doing.”
Jericho: “No you assclowns, I want you to get the hell out, I bought this room, and I want it clean and free of smell. NOW GET THE HELL OUT!”
Jack: “Sorry, this is ours. You want to play some chec….”
Jericho springs on the old man, knocking him out of his chair. Phil starts waving his arms in confusion. Jericho picks up the checkerboard and smashes it over his head, and the pieces fly all over the place.
Jericho: “I’m sorry……I am not usually this vile. I mean, they were only playing a quiet game of checkers, not harming a soul. This Saturday I am going to retire you two old timers. Kevin Nash does not stand a chance against me! All I simply have to do is watch the old bastard run and tear his quad, then pin his old ass one, two, three! You say you run on Diesel fuel right? I say you run on your own time, ‘cause the clock is just ticking, waiting for your quad to explode! Oh and make sure that you don’t get sick the day before the show, you’ve been known to do that. I’ve also noticed that you always come in when something is hot, and then leave right when it freezes. Paycheck monger, eh? Don’t worry Kev; the only paycheck you’ll be receiving is your insurance after I injure your ass all the way to this god forsaken place. Oh wait! I don’t even need to injure you, it can just happen by it’s self. Ain’t that right Mr. Quad? Even if your quad manages to hold for our match, it won’t be long before I’m coming here visiting your sorry ass, taking cheap shots at your quad and then watching as you strain yourself to attack me. Enough about cheap shots and quads for now, and more on Chris Jericho and Triple H. The Game. We face each other in a Lions Den match at Rumble in the Jungle. But we can’t lay a single finger on each other until then, so ol’ H-B-leech decides to book us in a tag team match. Well listen up trips, I’m not dumb. So don’t you try and pull some crap on me tomorrow night. If you think about it, we make a pretty damn good team. With your power and ass kissing abilities combined with my wrestling expertise, we could own the company. But no, you’re massive ego and nose would get in the way of our team. No harm. My singles career is just about to launch into space, and with that World Title around my waist, none will be able to send me back into orbit. But let’s focus on tonight. Let’s focus on taking out H-B-Leech and Quad Man. Chris Jericho is a comet hurtling into orbit. It’s just a matter of time before it makes an impact. It’s just a matter or time before I make an impact.”
Jericho smirks, and helps up Paul and Jack from the floor, placing them on the couch. The camera pans to the left, and Triple H’s face appears.