*The scene fades in and we are presented with a closeup of Jack Daniel's face. The camera pans out just a bit, but still only capturing the Drunk One's face. We can't really see where we are. All we can see is a wall of plain white tiles behind him. Daniels begins making some faces, like he's trying real hard at something. Almost looks as if he's constipated. But the camera doesn't budge, instead stays set on the drunken legend's face. Daniels begins speaking...*
Jack Daniels: Ya know, there's nuttin' more that Jack Daniels hates than a fraud...a fake...a ingenuine, paper champion. Those words sound familiar to anyone? Do those qualities immediately remind ya of someone 'round here? Well they should, and they're all pointin' in the direction of our so-called NWF World Heavyweight Champion Ray Ray Willmott. Don't act all surprised Ray cause ya know damn well you're guilty of bein' the absolute worst champion this business has ever had to fuckin' recognize. Just the thought of it made this drunken stomach all queezy and that's why I am where I am.
*Where is he? Oh uh...Daniels is making those faces again. The camera begins to pan out just a bit, and a little more and just a little more. That drunken sunuva bitch! Daniels is sitting on the toilet, just like we thought. Thank god we can only see and not smell.*
Yeah ya got that right, what an appropriate place and situation to be cutting a promo 'gainst Ray Ray. Ya see, shit and Willmott...they go hand in hand. Ray Ray looks just as good as shit...he rassles like shit...as a matter of fact he IS shit. And if he thinks that he can go One on One with The Drunk One, then he doesn't know JACK SHIT!
Ya see Willmott, ya were doin' just fine and then ya had to go and ruin everythin'...EVERYTHIN'! After ya got shut down your first time 'round, Edwards recognized ya weren't cut for the big time here. Heh, ya never were kid...ya never were ready to take that step up into the limelight and take shit over. So the bookin' team did what any other bookin' team would do, and push ya back down into the mid card fightin' the likes of Jermaine Owens and the mark of all marks Jared Holmes. Well, maybe he doesn't wuite earn that title more than ya Ray Ray, but we'll get to that later. And after ya could barely cut it 'gainst those rooks, your greediness kicked in. Somethin' inside of ya took over your body and mind and ya went and stole Smirt's title. YA literally stole it. As a matter of fact, your guilty of stealin' the NWF World gold twice and guilty of defacing property and givin' it a bad name. Smirt won that title and held the sunuva bitch for well over a month. Durin' that month he finally restored some respect and value into that title. Smirt made it the most wanted prize in this business. And now...now that ya have screwed him outta his title, ya went and flushed all that respect...all that value of the title right down the fuckin' toilet. It's wothless now. It means as much as the drunken shit in this toilet right now.
So are ya happy now Ray Ray? Are ya happy that your pathetic dreams of becomin' a Heavyweight Champion just once have finally come true and now ya have taken the most important piece of gold this industry has ever seen and have made it completely worhtless and unwanted? How does it make ya feel to be a paper champion Willmott? Cuz in fact, that's exactly what ya are. Don't fool yourself for one single solitary second in thinkin' ya actually won that title. No no son...ya stole that title from Smirt. And ya couldn't even do it yourself. That's what just makes this all the more pathetic Raymott. More pathetic than the fact ya never could secure a World title 'fore. More pathetic than the fact that ya could never handle a round of Jack Daniels 'fore. More pathetic than the fact that the night ya stole that title, ya sat it down by the fire with a bottle of bubbly and made sweet love to it all night long till ya blew your load all over it. Actually, nuttin' can get more pathetic and more mind bogglin' than the fact that ya tried to stick your chipmunk wee wee in some piece of tin foil. Ya need some help Ray Ray...ya need some serious fuckin' help. Maybe one of these advertisements on the walls here could help ya Willie. Let's take a look.
*Daniels looks around on the wall and on back of the stall door reading peoples' writing.*
Jack Daniels: Let's see, Dave was here...nah that ain't gonna help ya. For a good time call Bill at 718-623-8519. I know ya would prolly be interested in somethin' like that Ray Ray but that ain't gonna solve your problems right now either. LN 4:20? Huh...looks like Big Bong was here. Nah, tokin' up with that baked bastard would just make ya more dillusional. Next thing ya know he'd try to marry the damn title so he'd never have to give it up. Hey, how 'bout this one...Got Problems? Call Dr. N at 443-799-6134. Sounds like this Dr. N guy might be able to help ya. Doesn't say what kinda doctor but all 'em bastards are all the same anyway. But 'fore ya can see Dr. N, there's one other doctor that ya need to see to refer ya to him. Maybe you've heard of him Ray Ray, his name is Dr. Drunk One. Let's see if Dr. Drunk One is in his office. *Daniels picks up a bottle of Old No.7 he had on the floor and take a long swig* Step into my office Mr. Raymott. Now Dr. Drunk One has heard of your mental problems. How ya like to fuck inanimate objects and just how dillusional ya are. And does this drunken doctor have the prescription for ya. Take one shot *Dr. Drunk One holds up his bottle of Old No.7* of this...actually let's change that. Take two shots. One shot Old No.7 and then Sunday night, one shot of Jack Daniels. Now the side effects may include pain, bleedin' profusely, disfigurement of the face and the most dreadful one...A FUCKIN' HANGOVER!
But ya now somethin', the most painful side effect may be pure and utter humiliation Ray Ray. Not that there's anythin' wrong with losin' to your drunken hero here, ya have 'fore. But picture it. Newly crowned NWF World Heavyweight Champion. That means the best damn rassler the federation has to offer...right? Well that's what it's supposed to mean. Obviously this is one of those special cases where that doesn't quite fit the bill. Anyway, newly crowned champion in his very first match...and he gets the livin' shit beat outta him and is pinned right in the middle of the fuckin' ring, 1...2...3. How is that gonna make ya feel bitch? Ya know what, don't even kill a brain cell tryin' to think of how it's gonna feel. Jack Daniels will save ya the toruble of tellin' ya. It's gonna make ya feel like exactly what ya are...like exactly as everyone sees ya...like a fraud...like a fuckin' paper champion.
Now this match might not be for the World Title, and what a shame that is cuz Jack Daniels could restore some damn value and respect into that title. But regardless if it's for the title or not Willmott, Jack Daniels is out to prove his point. Jack Daniels sees the road 'head. Once Jack Daniels beats your ass and beats your ass good, not only will I avenge the crime ya committed 'gainst my boy Smirt...but that sets up Jack Daniels for the big one. That sets ya up for just 'nother ass whoopin' from your drunken hero. And that sets ya up for the shortest and most pathetic World Title reign this industry has ever seen. Any mark out there knows for a damn fact that ya should be wearin' the gold 'round your waist. Hell, this drunken bastard is a bit surprised that ya don't realize the same thing seein' as your the biggest mark of 'em all Ray Ray. Ya mark out everytime Smirt pulls out that golden microphone. Ya mark out everytime someone says the name Haywood Jublome. Ya mark out everytime Evan Douglas hits Follow the Ego or a sky twistin' moonsault. Ya mark out, everytime...every-fuckin'-time...*Daniels lifts his bottle of Old No.7 once again and takes one of his trademark swigs* ...Jack Daniels takes a swig of his poison. And just like every other mark, you're gonna be chewed up, spat out, stepped on, spat on and pissed on till ya realize that not only ya don't deserve any respect...but that...
Jack Daniels: Now that all your wet dreams have come true, all eyes are on ya. Everyone is watchin' your every move. You're what everyone else is bein' compared to. And in the case of Jack Daniels, he's light years 'head of ya. Jack Daniels has always been in that upper echelon of this industry. Jack Daniels is a loved and respected drunken legend no matter where he goes. As far as your concerned Ray Ray, you're still down at the bottom of the ladder. You're still tryin' to prove your case. I'd hate to rain on your little parade but Jack Daniels is gonna tell ya how it turns out. GUILTY! Guilty of bein' a fuckin' peon compared to the likes of a Jack Daniels or Smirtdogg. Guilty of bein' an overrated piece of shit that no one could give two shits 'bout. Guilty of bein' a thief and posin' himself as a fraud champion.
Now as for your punishment...ten whips with a bamboo stick. Nah, not 'nuff pain. 25 years in prison. Nah, not 'nuff sufferin'. An ass whoopen and a fuckin' half courtesy of your drunken hero. Now that's got the pain...that's got the sufferin'...and that's gonna absolutely suck for ya Ray Ray. This drunken bastard might not be able to take your title away from ya just yet...but come Sunday night, he will take your pride and he will take your status and drown 'em out with some Jack Daniels.
Now get on your damn knees, thank the bookin' Gods that this is a non title match. And while you're at it Ray Ray, say a prayer cuz you're gonna need a fuckin' miracle to beat Jack Daniels.
Till then...MOTHERFUCKER!
*Daniels stands up as the camera stays focused on his head. Daniels zips up and walks over to a sink, washes his hands and walks out of the bathroom. The cameraman turns back to the toilet and as if the smell isn't bad enough for him, he slowly makes his way over. The cameraman slowly peeks into the toilet with the camera...UGH! Willmott's hopes and dreams...I mean Daniels shit is still sitting in the toilet. Thankfully the cameraman flushes Willmott's hopes and dreams...I mean Daniel's shit and the scene fades to black.*