*The scene opens and we are provided with an aerial view of traffic below on some highway. But one car stands out from the rest...a black stretch limo, and the camera seems to be keeping up with the limo. Suddenly, the view changes and before you know it, we're inside the limo. It's your typical limo...tv, stereo, leather seats a bar. Wait a second, not just any bar...the bar is loaded with bottles of, that's right...Old No.7.Who could be in that limo? Now if you said Jack Daniels, then you're offically a drunken mark. And there is the man...the myth...the legend himself...Jack Daniels. Daniels has his NWF Tag Team strap placed down on the seat next to him and a bottle of Old No.7 clutched in his right hand. Daniels takes a swig from the bottle, grabs a remote and pushes a button. Daniels turns his attention to the television in the limo, as does the camera. The television screen sparks to life and what do we see but the action that took place just two weeks ago at Uncensored.*
*NO! Jack Daniels gets a shoulder up, not giving up yet. Harmston picks Jack up, sending him right in to the turnbuckle. He backs up, charging....and gets caught with a boot to the face by Jack Daniels! Harmston stumbles backwards, as Daniels catches him in a belly-to-belly suplex. Daniels rips him back up from the mat, obviously enraged, as he slams Harmston's face into the turnbuckle repeatedly. He's like a broken record, just lashing out with those blows to Alex's head against the turnbuckle! He pulls Alex out...and he's got him! LYNCHBURG LOWDOWN! Harmston is done for! ONE! TWO! LUNATIKK CRIPPLER! What, were you expecting a three? Jack Daniels had the count, but the appearance of Lunatikk Crippler at ringside made him give up the pin! Crippler stands on the ramp, yelling at Jack, motioning for him to bring it on. Daniels yells back...but before he can get outside the ring, he's caught from behind in a german suplex from Alexander Harmston! He bridges! ONE! TWO!THREE! Lunatikk Crippler just cost Jack Daniels the US Title without...screen goes black and the camera pans over to Daniels who is seen taking a swig from his bottle of Old No.7. Daniels begins speaking.*
Jack Daniels: Injustice. Robbery. Screwed. All of those describe what we all just saw on that tv. I mean look at that lunatikk practically nailin' this drunken bastard with a chair over the head. Look at him stompin' a mudhole in my drunken ass. Look at him pullin' Harmston over to my lifeless body, drape his arm over my body. And maybe even more disturbing, look at the ref just stand there, not do a damn thing and then make the three count. Ya know, Jack Daniels thought he'd never see the day that rasslin' is in the state it is in. People rippin' promos off one 'nother left and right cuz they can't get 'head of the game. People actually considerin' themselves the revolution in this industry when it was guys like Smirtdogg and Jack Daniels that revolutionized this business...and it's someone like Evan Douglas that will do so once 'gain. People lookin' to elevate themselves up that proverbial ladder by screwin' a legend like myself outta somethin' that fuckin' belonged to me. Ya see, this ain't 'bout the NWF US Title...that day will come 'gain when Jack Daniels owns all the gold he possibly can. This is 'bout ya Crippler. This is 'bout ya tryin' to steal Jack Daniel's spotlight...Absolute Powers' spotlight. And all cuz you're just absolutely jealous.
Jealous of what ya ask? Let's take a look...shall we? Let's start with the obvious stuff. Renegadez versus Absolute Power. Ya bastards couldn't beat us and quite frankly, ya never will. Twice Evan and myself shut down little Johnnie and V...twice. Smirt beat ya Crip within an inch of your pathetic life. The NWF Television Title that ya held...yeah well, that belongs in Evan's hands now. See a pattern developin' Crip? See just how one sided this has become? See just who is it with all the gold...with all the wins...with all the attention in the spotlight 'round here? Of course ya did...that's why ya decided to get in this drunken basatrd business, in hopes of pullin' off a miracle of a lifetime and gettin' one up on Jack Daniels. But has that ever happened? Has somethin' like that ever taken place in this industry's history? Now Crip, 'fore ya go blowin' your load on your only moment and a half in the sun when ya won the IWF World Title, think to yourself...did ya beat Jack Daniels? In a sense ya did cuz ya beat like five other guys and won the title right? WRONG BITCH! Did ya pin these drunken shoulders to the mat? Crippler...jerkin' the gherkin and answer my question...did ya pin these drunken shoulders to the mat? There ain' nuttin' to think 'bout loonman cuz the answer is NO! Oh, I'm sorry, did Jack Daniels ruin your moment for ya Crip? Well maybe ya can spew your load all over your fellow Renegaydez when they build ya up with a flase sense of confidence that you're actually gonna win this Sunday.
See Crip, it so fuckin' simple, that only an insane...mental...fucked up...lunatikk could not see it. Oh wait...that's ya. Maybe that explains why ya were stupid 'nuff to agree to a no DQ, Falls Count Anywhere match with a hardcore legend like Jack Daniels. Remember the CWA Crip? Remember the improptu matches involvin' thumbtacks, tables and baseball bats? Remember your nice trip down the Grand Canyon that damn near killed ya? Well I do and what I remember is that each and every time it was Jack Daniels gettin' the better of ya and pinnin' your shoulders down for the 1..2...3. Ya would step up, and at first, this drunken bastard thought it was cuz ya had some balls to go 'long with your insanity. And that's a dangerous combination of qualities. But what Jack Daniels realizes now is that ya don't have balls...ya don't have guts. All ya have is the desire to have your ass handed to ya just one more time...one more time by the man ya loathe the most...by the man ya worship the most...by the man you're most jealous of...Jack Daniels. Now bein' this drunken bastard's biggest mark...there's nuttin' wrong with that. But wantin' your ass whooped by your drunken hero just one more time...now ya might be labled as insane.
*Daniels takes another swig from his bottle of Old No.7 when suddenly the limo comes to a stop. The driver gets out of the limo, makes his way around and opens Daniel's door. Daniels drapes the NWF Tag strap over his shoulder, grabs his bottle of liquor and steps out of the limo. Daniels starts making his way towards a large white building. Where the hell are we?*
Jack Daniels: Which brings us here Crip.
*Where's here? Let the cameraman answer that one for you. He pans around a bit until a large sign gives us the answer...NVMI, short for Northern Virginia Mental Institution.*
Ya see Crip, since we had Dr. Drunk One clinically diagnose ya as mentally insane as a direct result of physically interferring, and as a result of past predicaments...Dr. Drunk One has decided to do the best thing for ya Crip. And that's have ya committed, somethin' which should have been done a long...loooong time ago. But seein' as how no one ever gave two shits 'bout ya...no one stopped to think what's best for ya either. But believe me...y'all like it here Crip. Believe it or not, there some rasslin' history here as well. Once upon a time, there were two rasslin' giants...maybe ya have heard of 'em 'fore...Jack Reed and Haywood Jublome. Believe it or not son, they had themsleves a Mental Institution match. So NVMI is no stranger to rasslers. And just think, the next time a match makes it's way to the NVMI, ya can be special guest referee. Well only if there's a worked endin' that is where ya have to get physically involved...seein' as how you're good at that and only that.
*Daniels walks in through the front doors of the NVMI. He walks through and takes a look at freaks all over the place.*
Jack Daniels: Damn, talk 'bout a freak circus. Or even yet, a psycho circus. *Daniels walks up to a desk where a receptionist is standing.* Hey there...
Receptionist: Hello. How can I help you today.
Jack Daniels: I need forms or somethin'. I got this one looney sunuva bitch that should be presidin' here.
Receptionist: Well, first you need to fill out this application form *handing Daniels an application form*.
Jack Daniels: No no...ya don't understand lady. This bastard doesn't need to fill out an application form acceptance. Believe me...he's one looney sunuva bitch. Not only does he physically interfere in my match and cost me a title, but now he thinks he can beat me in a No DQ, Falls Count Anywhere match.
Receptionist: And why do you consider that as an act of mental impairdness?
Jack Daniels: Act of mental impairdness? Why don't ya just say crazy or retarded. *Suddenly, everyone in the room just stops what they are doing. A deafening silence ensues and everyone just stares at Daniels.* Oh...it offends these freaks, I see. Anyhow, don't ya get it lady? Don't ya see who I am? I'm Jack Daniels bitch. The man...the myth...the legend...the hardcore legend...the drinkin' legend...the drunken bastard...everyone's drunken hero...the whole drunken show...The Drunk One.......Jack Fuckin' Daniels!
Recptionist: Oh wait a second...yeah yeah now I know who you are. I should have known you were a wrestler when I saw that big gold belt. I remember this one time, two wrestlers were in here fighting up and down the different wings and rooms...it was great.
Jack Daniels: Yeah yeah...so listen, after I whoop this looney bastard's ass on Sunday night, I'll have him checked in by Monday mornin'...pendin' he gets outta the hospital by then, or he's over his fuckin' hangover. In the meantime...this drunken bastard is just gonna take a walk 'round and check things out.
Ya know Crip, I think ya'll fit right in here with all these freaks. Freaks. Somethin' ya have been fond of sayin' Crip. Somethin' ya have been callin' this drunken bastard as of late...a sick freak. When in fact, ya should stop and think for a second 'fore ;abelin' anyone else a freak, until ya come to the reality that ya yourself are nuttin' but a sick freak. Your name says it all Crip..."The Whole Fucked Up Show" Lunatikk Crippler...looney bastard...insanity personified...insane in the membrane...or to sum it all up, one sick fuckin' freak.
Seriously Crip, anyone who thinks they're on their way to a victory when steppin' up 'gainst Jack Daniels...is outta their fuckin' mind. Just look at yourself lately Crip? Ya consider beatin' Teenwolf in just under the twenty five minute mark a career highlight? Do ya consider The Renegadez beatin' Domino Dominic, Bob Barker and Teenwolf impressive? That's the problem with ya Crip. Everytime the sun begins to shin on your ass, just for a split second, ya go and hide in the shade. Ya crumble and find yourself climbin' right down that proverbial rasslin' ladder. This ain't the first time Crip...and it ain't gonna be the last. Cuz now that ya have stepped up and decided to committ suicide by goin' 'gainst Jack Daniels, you're gonna go right back down to the bottom. You're gonna hit rock bootom once 'gain. And maybe...just maybe next week ya can be the curtain jerker and take on your biggest and only mark in Holmes. Word is the great Joe Lemon trained the sorry bastard.
Don't amuse yourself Crip. Don't, for one single solitary second lead yourself to believe that Jack Daniels actually fears some dillusional, looney bastard who shines all for 3.5723789 seconds 'fore showin' his true colors of yellow, black and blue...and then eventually red. And after Jack Daniels makes ya sweat, which he probably has already...after Jack Daniels makes ya cry, which by now ya have already gone through a half a box of Kleenex...and after Jack Daniels makes ya bleed...ya will realize once 'gain...one more time, just why, without a shadow of a doubt...absolutely why...just why...just why just why just why just why...
March of Death is quickly approachin' and death is marchin' straight in the direction of one looney motherfucker. The red carpet has been rolled out...the rose pedals have graced the floor for ya Crip. And death...or in your case, Jack Fuckin' Daniels, is marchin' straight down that carpet.
You're right Crippler...this match will steal the show on Sunday night, and it will be cuz of ya. Cuz after Jack Daniels gets done handin' ya an ass whoopin' of monumental proportions, everyone will be in awe of the punishment...of the brutality...of the injuries ya suffered after ya once 'gain prove to Jack Daniels...the fans...and more importantly yourself...that ya just CAN'T HANDLE A ROUND OF JACK DANIELS!
Till then...ya LOONEY MOTHERFUCKER!
*And with that...the scene fades to perhaps Crippler's newfound home after March of Death...the North Virginia Mental Institution.*