(The scene opens and we find ourselves in a bar in the dowtown Boston area. The bar is pretty crowded as the camera pans around trying to obviously find someone. The entire bar is searched but no one in particualr is seen. And just when the cameraman thought he was dragged into this bar for nothing, the entrance door swings open. And there stands the man everyone would wait their entire lives to just get a glimpse at...Jack Daniels, one half of the NWF Tag Team Champions. And now here he is, in the flesh at this bar. You just know after his visit here, his picture will grace the bar's wall of fame. Wait, I forgot...this is Boston. Anyway, Daniels comes strolling in as all eyes in the bar are on him. Maybe it's his intimidating size or demeanor. Maybe it's his impressive career accomplishments and accolades that has made him a legend. Maybe it's the fact that he can outdrink everyone in the bar...in every bar in every town of America. Or maybe, just maybe it's the fact that he's wearing a Jason Giambi baseball jersey. One Yankee fan surrounded buy about seventy or eighty drunk Red Sox fans...not good odds. Anyhow, Daniels strolls in with what looks to be a large envelope in his hand. Daniels walks up to the bar where just about twenty seats are filled, except for a few here and there. Daniels stands by one of the empty seats and sizes up the situation as the bartendar makes his way over.
Bartender: What will it be...Yankee?
Jack Daniels: Well me and my 12 friends here all want to sit and have a drink. But there obviously ain't 'nuff seats up here.
Bartender: Well then, maybe ya should try yourselves another bar then.
(Twelve friends? What twelve friends? Either Daniels has lost it or he's already drank himself into seeing things already. Anyhow, Daniels places that envelope on the bar. He goes to one end of the bar and quickly picks up the first guy and off of the stool he goes. He gets back up ready to fight, but one glance at Daniels, and he thinks twice about it. Good call. Next...Daniels tosses him right off and the next one and the next one when finally everyone just simply gets up and offer their seats to Daniels. All down the line, the bar cleared out...that was easy. Daniels goes back to his envelope and opens it up as the Bartender just looks at him in awe.)
Jack Daniels: Alright now, give this drunken bastard 13 shots of Old No.7.
Bartender: 13 shots?
Jack Daniels: Yeah...13 shots.
Bartender: All for you?
Jack Daniels: No ya moron. For me and my twelve buddies here. Just line 'em on up.
(The bartender is just confused. So he puts out thirteen shot glasses along the bar and begins to fill each one with Old No.7. In the meantime, Daniels pulls something out of the large manilla envelope he had with him. He starts placing something down by each shot glass. What the hell are those. What kinid of third rate cameramen does the NWF have here? Get a close up of what he's putting down there. The cameraman finally wakes up and zooms in on what Daniels has placed on the bar by the shot glasses. What the...it's a picture of Steven Arwich? Why the hell does Daniels have a pic of Arwich there. What's by the next shot glass? It's a picture of Ron Barker. And the next, Sean Boden. In fact, it seems to be everyone involved in the US Title Royal Rumble. Dominic Dragon, Fuel, Kid USA, Alexander Harmston, Matt Hoffman, Seven, Johnnie Storm, Vendetta and Marc Weinstein...all of them down the line, each with a shot glass next to the picture.)
Jack Daniels: *Looking at the bartender* Let Jack Daniels explain somethin' to ya 'fore ya think I belong in a nuthouse. These here bastards, all along the bar...these bastards are all in the Rumble 'gainst this drunken bastard here. So I figured I would all give 'em a shot of Jack Daniels as a little preview of what's to come 'fore The Drunk One shatters their dreams of ever becomin' anythin' in life. So, where do ya think this drunken bastard should start...down at this end or the other end?
Bartender: Hmmm...*pointing*why not down there at that end.
Jack Daniels: Good call. *Daniels takes his shot of Ol' No.7 as he heads over to one end. He looks down at the pic of Marc Weinstein and shudders. He takes down Weinstein's shot* Ah damn...that ain't gonna cut it. Hey barkeep...where in the hell is that bottle of Ol' No.7? Yeah that one right there. Hand that sumbitch over here...quick. *The bartender hands him the half full bottle of Old No.7 as Daniels snatches it out of his hands and takes one helluva swig* God daaaammn. Is there a full moon out there tonight or something? The hair just keeps on growin'...even in the picture. But ya know what's even harder to believe? The fact that your NWF record is a mere 1 win and 3 losses. I mean someone like Marc Weinstein with only one win. That's hard to believe...almost impossible. Ya got the perfect weapon and ya still can't manage to use it right. No not your howlin' or your claws or the lawn on your back. I'm talkin' 'bout this *Daniels holds up the pic to the camera and you can just feel the cameraman shuddering*. Just bring this with ya to the ring Markie Marc. A pic of yourself will empty that ring quicker than a bottle of Ol' No.7 in this drunken bastard's possession. Might wanna rethink your strategy for the Rumble teenwolf. Next.
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. He looks down at the pic and a grin comes across his face.)
Vendetta. Now this bastard prolly can't wait to get his hands on Jack Daniels. Oh wait, he did have the chance just this past week, 'long with his partner little Johnnie. And they blew. Well too fuckin' bad fo ya. Now Jack Daniels is one half of the NWF Tag Team Champions and ya Vendetta...ya are what ya have always been...a nobody...a nuttin'...a FUCKIN' PEON! It's a shame...a real shame V. Ya would think after so damn long, ya would have earned yourself the moniker of a jackass or somethin', but no...you're still a nuttin'. And, not to rain on your parade V, but ya still will be a nobody when your down on the floor lookin' up in the ring and lookin' at the person who just shattered your dreams of ever holdin' somethin' more than a pathetic TV title.
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. He looks down at the pic and a grin comes across his face again.)
Well, well lookie at who it is. It's nobody's favorite partner who came oh so close to takin' claim to the title that is wrapped 'round this drunken waist...little Johnnie Storm. But I guess bein' little is a good thing for a battle royal seein' as ya have a low center of gravity, thus givin' ya better odds of winnin' the rumble. Save it Johnnie cuz your technical bullshit ain't gonna cut it. As a matter of fact, nuttin' will cuz what it all comes down to is the simple fact that this drunken bastard will be there in the ring. And if Jack Daniels is in the ring, that means everyone else is either alreadin their locker room, bitchin' and whinin' and gettin' ready to go home to mama and cry 'bout it...or still on their ass outside of the ring tryin' to recover from their fall from the ring apron to the concrete.
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. He looks down at the pic.)
Seven. *Daniels pours another shot and downs it...and another and another...six more, making a total of seven shots.*
(Daniels isn't wasting another seven seconds on Seven as he moves to the next stool and takes the shot. He looks down at the pic.)
What ever happened to ya Hoff? Once upon a time ya were one of the most dangerous, unpredictable suns a bitches in this industry. And now...and now you're an average Joe...a nobody. Your name ranks among the likes of the Joe Lemon's and Serpent Man's 'round here. You're pathetic Hoffman. Ya used to run from this drunken bastard. But this time...there's no runnin' bitch. The only runnin' your gonna do is back up the ramp and into the where are they now category.
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. He looks down at the pic and a grin comes across his face again.)
Harmston, Jack Daniels has only got two words for ya...YOU'RE FIRED! MUAWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. He looks down at the pic and scratches his head.)
Oh now I know who this sorry bastard is. This is Joe Lemon's long lost son. It's good to see that at a time like this he's gone patriotic and took the whole USA angle. But unfortunately for him, he won't be representin' the US...Jack Daniels will.
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. He looks down at the pic.)
Now this Fuel sunuva bitch has inhaled one too many gas fumes if he thinks he's bringin' home any gold. But don't ya worry, cuz Jack Daniels will extinguish any thoughts of ya winnin' once he steps in that squared circle and sparks up an ass whoopin' ya wish ya would have never seen.
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. Damn he's on a roll. He looks down at the pic, well it's not even a picture of someone. It's just a picture of a dragon.)
What...is it the Chinese New Year already? Damn...this drunken bastard is behind.
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. Damn he's on a roll. He looks down at the pic of Sean Boden.)
Let's see, the Mimic, Kid Chaos, Rage and then no catchy nicknames but just himself. Damn Boden, ya need yourself a book of gimmicks after Jack Daniels makes ya realize that this is the shits and ya give up on it. Hell, Barnes and Noble is right down the road. I think I saw 'em runnin' a special on it this week. I'll have to pick ya up a copy next time I'm there.
(Daniels moves to the next stall and takes the next shot of Old No.7. Damn he's on a roll. He looks down at the pic of Barker.)
Barker? What the...since when do they let seventy year ol' game show hosts enter a US Title Royal Rumble? Edwards, your screenin' process is at an all time low. Well barker, it's time for ya to finally realize that the price is wrong...BITCH!
(Could it be? The liquor is actually startin' to get to Daniels? Possibly, but he moves over to the last stall and looks down at the pick of Arwich.)
That's our Hardcore Champion? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The definition of hardcore just went down the drain with this flamer takin' the title. Wait, are ya sure it ain't the Hardore ass rammin' title? Yeah...that fits the bill.
Ya know, the rumble is just like this atmosphere right here. Ya got about seventy people here who hate me just cuz this drunken bastard is wearin' his Yankee jersey. Now they all wanna beat the shit outta me and toss my drunken ass outta this bar. Yet none of 'em can cuz they don't have the balls to. Now ya got Jack Daniels and 'bout twelve or thirteen other jackasses in the squared circle. All who want to toss this drunken bastard outta the ring cuz not only to they hate me...but cuz they want gold. And 'gain...no one has the balls to. Quite frankly, no one wants to deal with the repercussions that's in store if that happens. Hell I don't balme a single one of ya cuz I wouldn't want to deal with 'em either.
All ya rooks and young ones think the same. Ya think you're the uprisin' in this industry. Ya think you're the future once the legends fianlly step aside. Well I got news for ya bitches. Jack Daniels ain't goin' nowhere anytime fuckin' soon. Ya want the man...the myth...the legend Jack Daniels to be sittin' home at the distillery in Tennessee watchin' all of this on the boob tube? Then every single one of ya are gonna have to fuckin' make me. Ya want Jack Daniels to outta this industry all together? Then you're gonna have to fuckin' kill me. Ya want Jack Daniels to step aside and let the youth of this industry take over? Bartender: I can try.
Jack Daniels: I want ya to take these pictures, shuffle 'em up and show 'em to me one at a time.
Bartender: What for?
Jack Daniels: Ya know what a doctor is right? *Nods with a what do you think I am a fucking moron look* Ya see, you're just like a doctor to this drunken bastard. Ya cure and help people by givin' 'em medicine and shit. Ya diagnose their problems and then ya prescribe the poison. I come in...got myself a big match so ya give me some Ol' No.7 and bam...problem solved.
Bartender: Never thought of it like that. You got a point. Alright here goes...*Bartender shuffles the pictures and holds up the first one. It's a picture of Seven.*
Jack Daniels: Ol' No.7.
(Next pic: Marc Weinstein) Jack Daniels: Teenwolf.
(Next pic: Hoffman) Jack Daniels: Never was.
(Next pic: Barker) Jack Daniels: Plinko.
(Next pic: Fuel) Jack Daniels: Gonna get BURNT!
(Next pic: Vendetta) Jack Daniels: Titleless...for the rest of his pathetic career too.
(Next pic: Dominic Dragon)
Jack Daniels: Poop.
(Next pic: Storm)
Jack Daniels: Overrated jackass.
(Next pic: Kid USA)
Jack Daniels: Bin Laden's secret agent.
(Next pic: Arwich)
Jack Daniels: Never had a fuckin' chance.
(Next pic: Boden)
Jack Daniels: Sick....freeeaak.
(Next pic: Harmston)
Jack Daniels: Unemployed.
So what do ya think doc?
Bartender: Well, considering your responses to these pictures and your previous comments...none of these sorry sum bitches can touch you. You're gonna go into that ring Sunday night and light their asses on fire with the ass whipping your gonna give 'em.
Jack Daniels: Couldn't have said it better myself doc. Couldn't have said it better myself. This will piss 'em off. This will piss 'em all of cuz after they're all done wipin' the last tear runnin' down their cheek, they're gonna realize two things.
One, they don't stand a chance in hell of even comin' close to competin' with this drunken bastard.
And two...that
Till then...MOTHERFUCKERS!
(THe bartender nods his head in approval and tosses the pictures on the bar. The high glossy finish allows the pictures to slide spread out a from each other. Daniels reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette as the bartender is dumping some Old No.7 all over the pictures. Daniels puts the cigarette in his mouth and as the bartender finishes pouring all of the liquor on the pictures, he takes out a book of matches, and lights the whole book. Daniels reaches out, grabs the flaming book of matches, lights his cigarette, turns around and takes a step towrds the door when he throws the flaming book of match over his shoulder. SWOOOOOOSSHH! All the pics go up in flames as the scene fades to black...)
JACK DANIELS AIN'T TO BE FUCKED WITH!!!