(The scene fades in and we find ourselves in a room...a smokey one at that. The camera is focused on the ceiling of the room as clouds of smoke float around the ceiling area. The camera slowly pans its way down the dim room. We see a recliner with its back to us, someon's left arm resting on the arm rest and the top of someone's head sticking up from the top of the chair. As the camera begins to manuever around the chair, we notice a television a couple of feet in front of the chair. The person's head titls back, and a cloud of smoke is blown right up towards the ceiling, but not just any smoke...a thick cloud of smoke. The camera makes it's way all the way around the chair...wait a second...it's Jack Daniels! But that's not the surprising part here...Daniels seems to be smoking a nice rolled phattie. That's not just a Dutchie...that's a dutchie and a half. The camera focuses in on Daniels who is just in awe with the television...just like any other baked person would be. We wait for Daniels to speak...but nothing. Damn, did he even realize the cameraman is standing right next to him? What the hell is he watching that's so amazing? The camera pans over to the tv. HOLY SHIT! IT'S STEVE! Not just any Steve...but Steve, the Crocodile Hunter on Animal Planet. Finally the cameraman breaks the silence...)
Cameraman: Uhh..Mr. Daniels, I'm here. You called me saying you wanted to cut a promo?
Jack Daniels: Would ya shut up. Can't ya see...this crocodile dude is on the tube. *Daniels takes another hit from his blunt and just stares at the tv*
Steve "The Crocodile Hunter": *In his heavy Australian accent* WOW! LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT CROC! It's a beauty if I ever saw one. She's protecting her little baby crocs and she's agitated cuz she thinks that good old Stever here poses a threat to her little babies. No mate, I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help ya. We need to get ya out of this small swamp and move you to where yo and your young ones will be safe. *Steve then jumps on the croc and fights her a bit until he's in control and has a hold of her mouth shut. His crew comes in and ties up her mouth and cover up her eyes as it fades to a commercial*
Jack Daniels: Damn, that Steve dude is fearless. Ya know, he kinda reminds me of this one drunk bastard...Jack Daniels I think his name is. Oh wait...that's this drunken bastard. No...scratch that, cuz obviously, there ain't no bottle of Ol' No.7 'round here. That's this baked bastard. Now all ya drunkaholics are prolly all confused and think you're watchin' the wrong thing here. Don't try to adjust your tv sets, cuz yes indeed, this is Jack Daniels. A Jack Daniels under the influence of, no not Ol' No.7...but a honey roasted Dutchie that has me floatin' higher than a cloud. Let me tell ya a story. Once upon a time, there was this little boy...we'll call him little Johnnie. Now little Johnnie wasn't like your normal child...oh no. Ya see, he grew up in a bad neighborhood. He grew up on the rought streets of Staten Island. And because his momma was too lazy to walk down the street to the grocery store and too damn poor to buy a qaurt of milk, she would feed him blunts...every kind ya could imagine. From Dutchies, to Garcia Vegas to Phillies...he would smoke 'em all. Little Johnnie grew up not knowin' any better but then to keep smokin' and smokin' and smokin' until one day he made a terrible mistake. A mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his baked life. He sat down with a man...but not just any man...a President. We'll call him President Me Me Me. Now President Me Me Me handed some papers to little Johnnie. No, not rollin' papers...but a contract. A contract to step into the squared circle and fight the biggest, baddest, most popular in all the land. We'll call him good ol' Jack. And do ya know what happened at the end? Do ya know what happened to little Johnnie? Yeah, normally in fairytales, the little man without a chance in the world to win comes out on top, everyone goes home happy and and everyone lives happily ever after. UH UH...not here. Ya see Johnnie gets knocked the fuck out, Jack drinks a bottle of Ol' No.7 and now everyone lives happily ever after.
Now, wasn't that a nice story. And no, it ain't the green speakin' here either Johnnie. You're prolly thinkin' when did good ol' Jack Daniels start lightin' up? Well ya see, this baked bastard couldn't understand one thing. Remember in the story where little Johnnie sits down with President Me Me Me and signs his name to a piece of paper that says he has to go one on one with the Drunk One? Wait, wouldn't it be one on one with the baked one? Whatever. Point is Johnnie, Jack Daniels wanted to see things from your point of view...he wanted to be in your mindset to realize just why someone would want to have their ass handed to 'em voluntarily. And ya know, Jack Daniels finally realizes that smokin' this shit, will make ya do many stupid things. Even things as harmful and dangerous to your well bein' and your career as signin' your name on that dotted line.
(Suddenly, Clarissa comes walking into the room rubbing her eyes as if she just woke up. She stops and smells the fine green in the air and looks at Daniels.)
Clarissa: What the hell are you doing? Do you know what time it is?
Jack Daniels: Hmmm...let me guess. It's...4:21.
Clarissa: *Looking up at the clock on the wall* Actually it's...4:21 in the morning. Nevermind that...what the hell are you doing? Are you cutting a promo NOW?
Jack Daniels: Yeah. I looked at the clock, it was 4:19 and I realized I got a minute. And what a long minute it has been. *A large grin comes across Daniels face as he takes another hit of that blunt*
Clarissa: Ugh, that crap you're smoking has really gone to your head. I know what you need. *Clarissa walks over to a cabinet and pulls a glass. She walks over to another cabinet and pulls out a bottle of Old No.7. She opens the bottle, pours some into the glass and puts it in Daniel's face.* Here...drink this. *Daniels shrugs his shoulders and takes it all down. As soon as he swallows it, he shakes his head.*
Jack Daniels: Ah thanks. That was just what this drunen bastard needed. What the...*Daniels looks down and sees the phattie in his hand and sets it down in an ashtray next to him*
Now Jack Daniels is in the right mindset. but don't think for one single solitary second that what Jack Daniels has already said was influenced by that green crap. No no Johnnie. Just like Jack Daniels told ya in that little fairytale, ya will step up to the giant...to the man who's larger than life...to the Drunk One. It's like your David...and Jack Daniels is Goliath. Ya can throw everythin' and the kitchen sink at this drunken bastard, and don't think that the kitchen sink hasn't literally been thrown at Jack Daniels. But there ain't no stoppin' me.
Yeah, Jack Daniels goes on the same routine each and evry week, tellin' his jackass opponents just how far deep they have stepped in shit...just how much of a legend Jack Daniels is. Borin'...isn't it Johnnie? Well how the fuck could it be borin' if no one is even listenin'?
Ya see, cuz after every opponent gets done watchin' 'nother drunken promo by yours truly on Hype TV...they don't care. They don't care just how much of an ass whoopen is comin' their way.
They don't care just how many titles have gone 'round this drunken waist 'fore.
They don't care just how larger than life Daniels really is.
But when it's all said and done...they start carin' if they're gonna live or die.
They start carin' if their bones are broken or not.
They start carin' if they still have their gold or not.
They start carin' 'bout what Jack Daniels has to say to 'em the next time 'round 'fore they step in the ring.
And most importantly, they care to wish they listened to this drunken bastard when he told ya...
And that's the moral of the story bitch. Simple and to the point. Just like the ass whoopen that's in store for ya Sunday night at the Coconut Cove Arena. Ya might want to consider smokin' all the trees ya can find that night...well except the Christmas trees cuz pine doesn't burn that well. And hope ya smoke yourself so silly either one of two things happens. Ya burn the brain cells that hold the memory of the most epic ass whoopen of your career that Jack Daniels hands ya. Or...or when ya finally come to Monday mornin' and wake up with a fuckin' hangover, it all seemed like one bad nightmare. But in fact, it's not. It's reality bitch. And the reality here is that ya ABSOLUTELY SUCK! Ya couldn't handle a round of Jack Daniels the first time 'round way back when...and ya can't handle a round now either. Instead, ya just hide behind your little bitch in President Me Me Me, glue your lips 'round his dick and blow smoke outta his ass in hopes that he can help ya in situations like this. In situations where ya realize that ya just don't stand a fuckin' snowball's chance in hell of winnin'.
There ain't no way 'round it Sunday night bitch. Once ya step through those ropes and into my drunken ring...Jack Daniels is gonna put that fire out from under your ass. Ya know, from the time when ya tried givin' President Me Me Me a shottie through your ass. So I hope ya and your little bitch enjoyes it, cuz after Sunday night, there's gonna be a size thirteen boot jammed up in there.
Till then...MOTHERFUCKER!
(Daniels picks up the bottle of Old No.7 and takes a swig. He picks up the blunt which is still burning with the other hand and then slowly pours some Old No.7 over the tip of the blunt, putting it out. Symbolic of what's going to happen Sunday night. Daniels then turns his attention to the TV which is still on Animal PLanet and Steve is wrestling another croc...)
Jack Daniels: What the hell am I watchin'...
(Daniels picks up the remote and chages the channel as the scene fades to black...)