"Jump Around" by House of Pain

::...Narration...::

(Silence...Begin.)

Sanarrator: "At first, it was a childish act, shown by a coward, but that was when it happened once...now it has happened twice, and this foolish being decides that he wants to doubt The Franchise. Well, friend, I personally invite you to Santa Fe, and, whomever you are, you can have a front row seat to the mayhem that will undoubtadly unfold as The Franchise proves to you, Glore, and Williams just how great, he is."

(Forge Forward.)

Sanarrator: "Glore...why do you do this to yourself? Why can't you just accept simple fact? Is it so impossible to believe that The Franchise is better than you? Is there something inconcievable about that statement, or have you merely come to the conclusion that your 'resistance' is no longer needed, as the outcome will always be the same? Either way, the result falls with a loss in your column, a win in The Franchise's and a bonus in his pocket, while you are forced to resort to American beer. But, maybe, I underestimated you Glore...maybe you aren't the incompetent drunk I guaged you to be...after all, you avoided my "trap" that I set, knowingly, JUST, for you....then again...maybe you fell for what I had planned from the beginning...perhaps, I merely wanted to prove what an fool that you were, in which case I suceeded...Easter Eggs, Glore? At least Just Beaver was quasi-disgraceful, but this...(Sigh)...this is below you Glore...this is the level someone like Rain would stoop to. Perhaps you should join Rain, Money, and Huntley on their quest for idiocy in Team Harper...after all, you'd go straight to the top and get your coveted World Title shot, and you'd probably win it. So why not do yourself a favor, Glore, and sellout like the rest of the assholes in FWF? Bitch."

(Intermission.)

Sanarrator: "Or, perhaps we should concentrate on those that have ALREADY sold out. Right...BROCKOLI? Remember that nickname? I'm sure you do, in fact, I'm sure everyone does...or what about Super-SexA...you hate that don't you? Or perhaps we should simply refer to you as SELL-OUT. Is that alright with you? After all, what is this? 3? 4? God, Sell Out, that's a lot of stints under the Corporate payroll. Well, at least I should congratulate you...you obviously must be talented if you can be embarassed so much and yet still be brought back to the Corporate side of things every time. After all, those Goldmans and Harpers sure can pick a talented bunch...I mean, you had JJJ, but he only one won Titles because of screwjobs, not talent, and then you had MISSLE...but let's not talk about him...maybe you'd like to talk about Chubby Rain, or Troy Huntley, or Straight Money....Wow Brock...there's some real WINNERS in that group...they could take on the whole world if they had to, right Brock?...God, you would think if someone was going to sell out, they'd at least make sure actual TALENT surrounded them so that they could cover up their own incompetence. Ah well, no hard feelings, ok Brock? After all, you've known about all of this for quite some time, and yet you still mantain that the Corporate side is the right side. Good choice Brock...good choice."

(Fin.)

::...Not Just A Promise...::

...As the view fades in, you can see him, sitting there, adorned in his black slacks and black stretch T-shirt, the muscles flexing through it, and beige Lugz. There is no smiles on his face, as he reclines in that same wooden chair from yesterday, on that same wooden porch. There are is no laughter as he breathes deeply, taking in that same mountain air. Glancing upwards, he whispers......

Justin: So, Glore, you want to mock me? You want to laugh at my past as if it defines the man I am today? Well, then be my guest, because if you hadn't found those tapes, someone would have, and someone would have used them better than you have. Fortunately, you're too much of an idiot to realize what you had. You think it's just a tape to amuse you, when it's oh so much more. There's so many things on those tapes that you could use to your advantage Glore...yet, you choose not to, or you know not to....either way...it helps me...either way...it screws you...You had the most valuable resource you've ever had and instead of using it to bury me...you used it as entertainment...for a good laugh...well then let me congratulate you, Glore, on being the biggest mor-on since Alexander Maximus. Haha, perhaps, Nathanial, we'll meet again, and you'll realize what you had, and what you could have done, and maybe then you'll succeed in defeating FWF's ONLY Franchise...or maybe it will come to you when you're lying in the ring, bloodied and unconscious...or, just maybe, it'll come to you when you DON'T get your shot at Lawson at Resurrection and it's The Franchise up there, holding the World Title high because of his utter dismantling of The KING...Perhaps then, Glore, you'll realize the chance you had...the chance...to bury me.

...He sits up, hunching over his knees, and sighs. Looking towards you, he wonders...whether he can really climb the mountain again..to JD Lawson and his precious World Title...whether he can finally shut all the critics up...whether he can FINALLY become the Franchise he's always known himself to be. He looks back at the lake, and speaks....

Justin: Cocky? No, Brock...I haven't been self-confident in a long time Brock...In fact, not since the days of the New Gunz have I been the arrogant fool you KNEW me to be...You see, Brock...I'm not the same man you knew...I've been through too much not to change...it was, inevitable, as a certain someone would say. No, Brock, I'm different...I don't put people down because I feel like it...I don't challenge people to matches that I know I can't win...no Brock, now...I speak the truth...I no longer find, or make up pointless facts in order to make asanine points...I think now, Brock...something you probably haven't done in a long time. I think about everything...about my surroundings...about my life...about what I have and haven't done, and I guage myself. I guage what I can and cannot do and I make sure that I don't get in over my head like you have...You know it Brock..you've got no shot tomorrow, and so you tell me that I'm still the same "cocky" kid that I was back in June and July, but the facts remain Brock, you're scared...scared of me...scared of what might happen if you lose...and scared of yourself...you don't know whether you're the real deal, Brock. You're still questioning yourself, still wondering...trying to find out what's wrong and why you've lost oh so many matches....You see, Brock, there's a difference between you and I...a big difference...I look at what I am, and what I'm not, and I look at what my opponent is and what he isn't...And what I see in you, Brock, is a child stuck in a man's body...a child waiting for his father to come along and pick him up so he can play catch....What I see, Brock, is an immature, spoiled brat...a brat, that, one way or the other, is going to get spanked tomorrow....And THAT...Brock...is a guaran..DAMN..tee...BITCH!

...As he leans back in the chair, a screaching voice is heard. Sitting up suddenly, he sees Andrew standing there, on firm ground, to his left, screaming. He sighs....

Andrew: YO! Justin, you ready?

Justin: Huh? What?

Andrew: Are you ready?

Justin: Ready for what?

Andrew: To go, we do have somewhere to be you know.

Justin: We do?

Andrew: Yes, Tempe, Arizona.

Justin: Oh yeah, well, umm, I guess.

Andrew: ...looking around... Well then where's your suitcase?

...Dissappearing into the house, he scuffles around, looking for that all important suitcase. He comes out with that same simple, black duffel bag. Tossing it to Andrew, he sits back down in the chair, obviously not wanting to leave....

Justin: There, have fun.

Andrew: You do know YOU have to come to?

Justin: Oh? Is that so?

Andrew: Yeah, your contract says so.

Justin: Conract? Screw my contract. My contract says I should get a rematch...but did I?! NOOOOOOOO. My contract says I should get a vacation...but have I?! NOOOOOOOOO. My contract says I need a first name...but did I have on for three months?! NOOOOOOOOO. My contract means shit.

Andrew: Yeah, well then, your momma said so.

Justin: Bastard.

...Standing up, he brushes himself off and takes on last look at the peaceful lake and then decides to move forward. He closes the door, pulling the key after he locks it, and walks down the steps to the left, which had not been seen before. Andre Davis is already there, in his I-slam Mobile, in the driver's seat, honking the horn. In actuality, it's a maroon '93 Chevy Van with the words I-SLAM MOBILE painted on the side. Sighing, he moves around the corner of the van, and slowly opening the passenger's side door, sits down. As he closes the door, Andrew takes off....

Justin: You think you're going fast enough?

Andrew: Don't know...we'll find out when the State Police stop us.

Justin: You know, I don't what you did this morning, but when I woke up, I told myself I was going to try to NOT get arrested.

Andrew: Yeah, well, we're different.

Justin: Obviously....hey Andrew...is there something you're not telling me?

Andrew: Like?

Justin: Like why we're going 85 in a van that was probably designed to not even reach the speed limit on most major highways?

Andrew: Uhhh...nothing I can recall. Perhaps you're just imagining things.

Justin: Imagining things? Andrew...I don't think Brock is this fast in his liquid dreams.

Andrew: Yeah, well, deal with it....we're not stopping.

Justin: And why is that?

Andrew: Because we've got places to be.

Justin: Places to be? Where do we POSSIBLY have to be?!

Andrew: I told you, Tempe, Ari...

Justin: No, we don't have to go this fast to get to Tempe.

Andrew: Yeah, well....yeah...

Justin: Andrew...you're not telling me something...

Andrew: Errr...uhhh...

Justin: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

...Andrew suddenly steps on the gas and they are, without a doubt up to 95 on a COUNTRY ROAD. He is literally being forced back against his seat as Andrew hunches over the wheel, an evil look of determination in his eyes....

Justin: If you don't stop this, we're going to get arrested.

Andrew: Don't care...

Justin: That means JAIL.

Andrew: Don't care.

Justin: That means NO LESBIANS.

Andrew: WHAT?!

Justin: OWWWWW!

...His head goes flying up against the glass, as Andrew comes to a sudden stop. Rubbing his head, which is now starting to bleed, he sits back, and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath as Andrew sits there, in some type of "mood". The camera fades.......

...HERO...ICON...FRANCHISE...YOUR F'N ROLEMODEL...

«««FADE 2 BLACK«««

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