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| **The Scne opens with Rob Osbourne leaving the gym at the end of his promo for PWN Firday Night Fury. As he finishes his pose for the end shot, he changes clothes, packs up and takes a taxi back to the hotel, where he gathers luggage and jumps into his purple ferrari and heads for his private jumbo jet and pulls in. He takes a nap on the short flight from New York to Kentucky. Wehn the plane lands, he jumps in the ferarri and we get to hear his thoughts as he heads to Cincinatti, Ohio.** |
| NRO: Wow, 2 days. 2 days until it is time to put up or shut up. Fitting really, all three of us have allot to prove, and in my eyes, no one is a shoe in. Of course, there is always the "given." It's a given that Donovan will be as focused as a lion about to pounce its prey. It's a given that Hellstone will more than likely be drunker than shit. And it's also a given that I am the only man in that match to hold multiple singles world championships throughout my career. Sure, Hillard had his ride as EWA IC champ, and first run SAW World Champ, but that's it. He doesn't have a clue really. That should end up panning out to be an incentive for Big D and I. Osbourne picks up his cell phone and dials up Donovan. Donovan answers on the third ring. Donovan: Yeah. Rob: Hey you in Cinci? Donovan: Yeah, I just got here. I�m leaving the airport now. Rob: All right, well I made reservations at Masionette at 114 E. Sixth Street. The reservation is for seven. Donovan: Okay, sounds great. I�m staying at the Crowne Plaza Hotel on Sixth, so that works out great. Rob: Cool. I�ll see you in a few hours then. Osbourne hangs up the phone and picks up where he left off. Hellstone, do the world a favor, seek therapy about your fascination with the human anal orifice will ya? Jesus man, you had to have said ass more in one promo than the kids on South Park say in an entire season. no wonder Hillard, Styles, Pledge, and Chandler have always been such good "buddies." Makes me think of a prank that got pulled on one of Watterson's friends at the Nitemare Club back in 1999.... This one bartender comes to a private party I threw at my parent's house for my employee's and gets hammered. I mean, we're talking Hellstone shit faced here. He didn't even know his name. He passes out with his mouth open and eyes closed. A bunch of the other guys that worked at the club all decided in their drunk and high stupors that it would be a funny idea if they all tok their cocks out and aimed at his face and took a picture. So Monday morning this picture finds its way to my office, and I have to admit, is was friggin' hysterical. Here is this kid, Johnny Frothington with his eyes shut and his mouth wide open with about six cocks around him. He was passed out, but he was so out of it they positioned his head to where it looked like he was having a man meat buffet. Needless to say he was cleaning out his employee locker by the end of the day with the whispers of "look at lunch box, he loves the cock" behind his back. Sure, I knew it was a prank, but I fired him for not being able to hold his liquor, ah, Tennessee, a right to fire state. Anyway, sounds like a night at the Don's mansion, a Hillard and Styles with their mouths hanging open, pleasuring Pledge and Chandler while the Don watches while he whacks. Hillard, you have to be doubting yourself going into this match, i know it. While Donovan thinks I am doing that very thing, I am not. I am merely being realistic. The one thing that can kill you in singles competition boys, and write this down, is not accepting the fact that on any given night, against any given opponent, ANYONE can lose. Look at the past greats and who they were upset by. There was Ric Flair losing to Barry Windham. Barry freaking Windham. Then their was Steve Austin dropping a belt to Kane in 1998, then more recently, you have Matt Hardy get a "W" over Brock Lesnar, and Triple H forces a ref to reverse a decision after he was beaten by a then proverbial no name, Chris Jericho. It happens, Pledge got beat by me. He was my stepping stone. I guess I owe as much to him as I do Jimmy for being where I am today. If he hadn't put me over, I may still be in the midcard, like Deville and Hillard. See Shawn, we came up the same way, tagging. But thank god that Mo and The Edge both knew raw, unadulterated talent when they saw it and I got my push, catapulting me to main event, ICON status. You're getting there Hillard, just about five years late. Must have been so drunk, you've been hitting the snooze button on your career huh? **Osbourne exits the interstate in Cincinnati and heads to the Filmore Suites and checks in. A small smoke shop on the corner catches his eye and he turns his head quickly, as if resisting its temptation. He makes his way to room 420 and unlocks the door. As he turns the knob, a group of girls stick their heads around the corner and begin squealing. Rob quickly opens the door and bolts inside. He throws his luggage on the bed and opens the mini bar. No heineken. NRO: Why am I not surprised? He pulls up a seat at the small table near the front doot, and pulls a bag and pack of papers from his pants pocket. As Osbourne begins breaking up the mary jane to roll a spliff, he stops for a moment and stares at the enticing green buds. NRO: No. No, I can't smoke you. God, you are beautiful though... (picking up one of the buds) Stop it Rob! No dope, okay? He places the buds back in the bag, grabs the papers and stuffs them back into his pocket. NRO: Nothing like keeping temptation at arms length. He turns on the TV and surfs through the channels, stopping on PWN. He watches for about fifteen minutes then turns the TV off. He looks at his watch. It is 6:00 pm. He changes his clothes and decides to head to the restaurant. He opens the door and steps into the hallway. A banter of squeals once again pierce his ears and five girls begin charging down the hallway. Osbourne slams the door shut, and stops the girls. NRO: Ladies, I have an important meeting I'm heading to. Girl #1: Please, can we just have your autograph? NRO: All right. Osbourne scrawls out five autographs, thanks the girls, and leaves towards the parking lot. He unlocks the Ferarri door, slides inside and starts the engine. He throws the gear in reverse and peels out of the parking lot. About 15 minutes later, he pulls up in front of the Masionette Restaurant on Sixth Street. Upon arrival Osbourne checks his Ferrari with the valet and heads inside to the bar for a drink. He orders a Heineken and catches up with the week�s sports scores. |
| Click here to go to the Massionette and have dinner with The Nitemare and Donovan Torigianni. |
| **As the crowd subsides, Donovan and Rob exchange hotel phone numbers and go their separate ways. Osbourne decides in lieu of his typical pre-match routine of getting drunk, stoned, and laid, that he is juts going to go back to the hotel and get a good nights rest. He drives back to the Fillmore Suites and heads to room 420, flops onto the bed and drifts off to sleep. As he begins to dream and the camera begins to fade out, we see what he is dreaming about, FTB** |
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