(The scene opens and we find ourselves in the back of the limosine. The camera is focused on the driver in front. Suddenly the tinted partition in the limo slowly goes up and a voice is heard...)
Voice: Hey jackass...the camera,,,yeah this way genius.
(The cameraman spins the camera around to reveal the man behind the voice none other than Jack Daniels. Sitting next to Daniels is none other than the lovely Clarissa. Clarissa is leaning up against Daniels who reaches out and grabs a glass and puts some ice in it. He sets it down and grabs a bottle of what else...but Old No.7. Daniels opens it and pours some into the glass. Must be a first, Daniels isn't drinking it straight from the bottle. Anyway, Daniels takes a sip from the glass and begins to speak...)
Jack Daniels: Ahhhhh...that's good stuff. But ya know what else is good baby?
Clarissa: One of my high impact workouts?
Jack Daniels: No...those aren't good. Those are fuckin' amazin'...bwahahahaha. But that's not quite what Jack Daniels had in mind.
Clarissa: Oh, then what did you have in mind Jack?
Jack Daniels: I was talkin' 'bout bein' rewarded. Jack Daniels ain't talkin' 'bout the kind of reward ya get for findin' a wallet or even savin' a life. Jack Daniels is tlakin' 'bout bein' rewarded for all of his efforts...all of his pain...all of his hard drunken work...with what else but a Television Title shot this week on Heatwave.
Clarissa: That's great baby. It's about time President Me recognized where the true talent lies.
Jack Daniels: Yeah ya know where it lies...don't ya? Damn I'm gettin' hungry. *Daniels lowers the tinted partition and speaks to the driver* Hey driver...Jack Daniels is gettin' hungry back here so find a nice place for us to eat.
Clarissa: Ya know Jack, I'm getting a bit hungry as well.
Jack Daniels: Why don't ya feast on this for a bit. *Daniels grins as grabs Clarissa's head and begins to lower it. The camera zooms in to get only Daniel's face and as it zooms, we see Clarissa's head...heading down?* So let this drunken bastard think for a second here. If he has himself a title match for the BSPW Television Title, that must mean that the unfortunate bastard that has to go One on One with The Drunk One is none other than Sean "The Colonel" Sanders. Damn, this drunken bastard still does have some brain cells workin'. After all the liquor...after all the Ol' No.7 Jack Daniels has washed down...after all the beatings Jack Daniels has taken...ya would think there would be nuttin' left of this drunken bastard, would ya Sanders? But oh how wrong ya are oh great Mr. Colonel.
Ya know, Jack Daniels must give credit where credit is due. Ya pulled out two amazin' victories the past two weeks Sanders. Hell, ya prolly pulled 'em from the same place ya pulled out the rats that ya try and pass off as fried chicken...but that's 'nother story for 'nother time. Ya see Sanders, just like your infamous chicken, you're passin' yourself for somethin' ya aren't. You're passin' yourself for somethin' great...for somethin' speacial...for the BSPW Television Champion. So let Jack Daniels be the first to tell ya that ya ain't all that. NOw I know exaclty what you're thinkin' bitch. You're thinkin' just how can Jack Daniels say that. Well ya need to realize somethin'...I'm The Drunk One and I can do that.
Seriously Sanders...look at yourself. Yeah, I know it's hard to put yourself in front of a mirror and actually have to look at your ugly, fried chicken smellin' mug for more than a second and a half. But aside from your hideous looks, what Jack Daniels sees is somethin' you're truly not. Now granted, throughout his drunken career, Jack Daniels has whooped asses and taken names...has won more titles than chickens ya have fucked in your life. And ya wanted to emmulate this drunken bastard in the worst way. Well you're on your way there son. But ya see, there's a difference. Ya think that Jack Daniels just found himself some product to endorse and live by it...just like ya have done. That's where you're wrong bitch. Ya see, this liquor is me...it runs through my veins...it's pumped outta my drunken heart...it comes flyin' out when I take a piss. But as for ya Sanders...you're a fuckin' joke. What...are ya gonna tell Jack Daniels now that ya shit out fried chicken? Damn, that's a scary thought if ya ever had one.
(Suddenly the limo comes to a stop. What the...Clarissa's head finally comes up and out from Daniel's lap as she's whiping up her lips. The driver walks around and opens up the door for Daniels. Daniels steps out, followed by Clarissa and then finally by the cameraman, who seems more focused on Clarissa's ass than where we are. Suddenly we here Daniels voice and the cameraman finally breaks out of his trance...)
Clarissa: YOU CALL THIS A NICE PLACE TO EAT?!?! *The camera pans up and gets a shot of exactly where we are...KFC?!?!* Driver, back in the car. I know a nice Italian restraunt a few blocks away. There's no way I'm eating this crap.
Jack Daniels: Ya know what, ya have the driver take ya to that restraunt you're talkin' 'bout and I'll meet ya there in a little bit. I got some business to take care of first. So Driver, drop her off, and come back to pick me up, except meet me in the back.*A grin comes across Daniel's face as Clarissa gets back in the limo and it drives off. Daniels proceeds forward and walks into the KFC.* Ahh, the sweet smell of a bucket of some greasy, stale fried chicken. Just like your gimmick Sanders...greasy and stale. Now Jack Daniels realizes that imitation is the sincerest form of a compliment Sanders. But ya see, ya need to realize that it's been done...on a much higher level might I add. I mean, sittin' 'round drownin' your sorrows with a 12 piece bucket of chicken. Shit, the only difference is that Jack Daniels ins't tryin' to mask the pain or drown his sorrows...oh no bitch. And after Sunday night Sanders, ya might want to consider lockin' the doors...fire up those frylators...cook up all the chicken ya got in stock and mask all of the pain from a Jack Daniels ass whoopin'..and drown all of your sorrows of losin' your oh so precious title to this drunken bastard.
(Daniels walks up to the front counter where orders are placed...)
Employee: Hello and welcome to KFC. May I take your order please?
Jack Daniels: No no...my name is Jack Daniels and I'm with the health department. I got a couple cases of food poisonin' and complaints from this here store.
Employee: Jack Daniels...with the health department? Where's your badge? I don't see a badge hanging from your neck or on your shirt.
Jack Daniels: *Daniels holds up his bottle of Old No.7 and shows the employee the label* There's my fuckin' badge jackass. Now any more little smart ass comments outta ya, and Jack Daniels will make ya disappear quicker than a chicken wing on a string at West Coast Burger King. *The employee just takes a step back and lets Daniels through. Daniels steps behind the counter and goes back into the kitchen area where the chicken is cooked and prepared.* Here Sanders...come out come out wherever ya are. Heh, I can finally see how Sanders and chicken go hand in hand. Ya see, throughout all your pathetic career, ya have been talkin' up yourself a big game, but ya never seemed to back it up. Ya went right after the big guns, but then turned 'round and had someone else take care of your dirty work. Sound familiar Sanders? Think back...IWF. Ring a bell? Ya wnet right after the big DOGG, and when ya realized ya couldn't walk the walk, ya brought 'long Hoffman and myself to take care of the job...and we did just that. Well now that Jack Daniels is in the oppositte corner, who are ya gonna bring out now to take care of your dirty work? Ya know, it doesn't even matter who ya bring 'long cuz it won't make the tiniest bit of a fuckin' difference. No matter what ya say...no matter what ya do...there ain't no way...and this drunken bastard means NO WAY that ya'll be able to handle a round of Jack Daniels. So go 'head and cut your recycled promo 'bout how Jack Daniels is over the hill and too old to be competin' for this title, just like ya do with every other legend out there cuz ya realize ya'll never be in that upper echelon.
So maybe it's time to come up with a new recipe Sanders. Here, let Jack Daniels help ya out a bit.
(Daniels spots a large plastic bucket and places in underneath the frylator. He reaches underneath and unscrews something until all the oil in the frylaotrs comes pouring out. As that is draining out, Daniels walks over to ta big pot of gravy simmering over low heat. Daniels opens up his bottle of Old No.7 and pours about half the bottle in the gravy and stirs in around a bit. Daniels puts his finger in and takes a taste.)
Jack Daniels: Now that's gravy for ya...
(Daniels walks back over tot he frylators, which all the oil has drained out of. Daniels screws it back up so nothing will drain out of it again. Daniels goes to the back door and spots his limo waiting for him. Daniels opens the back door and reaches in and pulls out...a large cooler? Daniels brings the cooler in and opens it. HOLY SHIT! There's got to be about a dozen bottles of Old No.7 in there. Daniels opens one and and begins to pour it into the frylator. Two...three...four...about seven bottles later, the frylator is about filled with Old No.7. Daniels. Daniels grabs some chicken and throws it in the frylator where he just emptied out all those bottles of Old No.7.)
Jack Daniels: Ya see Sanders, it's time for a new recipe. The ol' one just ain't cuttin' it anymore...not for the fans...not for the BSPW. But don't get your panties in a bunch cuz this drunken bastard is here to save the day...as usual. Cuz ya see, after Sunday night, it won't be TV Champ Sean Sanders...no no. Cuz let's face it...with that runnin' atop the BSPW headlines, good ol' Monkdaddy might as well just lock up the front doors and turn out the lights on the BSPW cuz if he doesn't do that now...well let's just say that he'll be forced to sooner than later to do so with ya runnin' the show. But that problem has been solved, and after Sunday night is all said and done, no one on the roster will have to fear standin' on the unemployment line cuz of one chicken fryin' motherfucker. And with that said, our new recipe chicken should be cooked to Ol' No.7 golden perfection.
(Daniels takes the chicken out of the frylator. Daniels picks up a piece of chicken and juggles it in his hands because it is scalding hot. Daniels waits a moment and then takes a bite from the chicken...)
Jack Daniels: Mmmmm...now THAT'S FINGER LICKIN' GOOD! But not as good as Jack Daniels victory this Sunday night makin' him the new BSPW Television Champion.
Till then...BITCH! MUAWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
(Daniels grabs the chicken he cooked and puts it in a bucket and heads for the back door where the limo is waiting for him. The scene fades to black...)