SOHK II: En Fuego vs Hardcore Jesus

[Ben Jacobs]

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Information
- Roleplays for SuperShows are based on a 100 pt. scale
- RP Limit: 3 per person, per match
- 20 pt. early RP bonus for first rp which scores more then 50 and is posted before Wednesday, July 22nd @ 3:00pm (Board Time)
- RP Deadline: Saturday, August 1st @ 11:59pm (Board Time)
- Match/Segement Deadline: Monday, August 3rd @ 10:00am (Board time)

[Nate Sipes/The New Level]

[As the scene opens on the all too familiar features of the man known as Hardcore Jesus, several differences between the previous show and now are apparent. First of all, he’s wearing traditional wrestling trunks as opposed to his usual white robe. Second, his beard is shaven to a more standard goatee. Finally, instead of drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels, bottled water is in his hand.]

[He slowly paces back and forth until his lowered head looks up to notice the camera turned on; sitting in front of him. His demeanor is that of annoyance. He takes a deep breath and finishes off his water bottle; throwing the empty plastic to an off-camera portion of the room.]

HJ: “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Or so a wise man once said. The truth is that things change and change rapidly over time. I mean, just look at how I’ve changed these past months: I’ve gone from a sad-faced shell and managing my Disciples to showing the viciousness that I know I’m capable of and running roughshod over opponents who don’t deserve to live, let alone compete in this company. I’ve proven that, despite what all of you fools and turncoats think and say, I’m not washed up and that I’m not going anywhere but to the top. That is a change that I had to force into happening because there was no way I would’ve gotten my due respect without destroying my recent opponents.

[HJ smiles as he runs his left hand over his cleaner-looking beard. He slowly lowers his hand as he continues.]

HJ: As for changes in appearance, that’s all but guaranteed for everyone on this little rock called Earth. Mine, while necessary for personal comfort in some cases, are also done for…strategic purposes.

[HJ crosses his arms; raising his head slightly to give a more “distinguished” look for the camera.]

HJ: I’m well aware that if my more “seasoned” opponent wants to win this bloodbath to come, he’ll need to use every trick he has up his scraggly sleeves and in his dusty, old playbook. As such, I’ve discarded my robe for this contest as it’ll only serve his interests to distract me as it’s shredded by the weapons we will use in the School House Rock. As for my beard, it’s the same principle: the less you give an enemy to hold onto, the fewer chances he’ll have to attack you in close. I’m not just a student or a master of the game, Fuego; I AM the game! You can be contempt with your claims of being the supposed “World’s Sickest S.O.B.” but I will always be the Messiah of Destruction and do you know why? Because when I step into that ring, objects get broken, opponents get beaten and souls become crushed. That isn’t just confidence talking but the gospel truth. It’s not that I have a “divine spirit” on my side because I’m already there. You can’t kill what’s already one step beyond your creation.

[HJ lowers his head so that his eyes are locked onto the camera.]

HJ: As for you, Fuego, your name may mean “On Fire” but with your career being the way it is, it should be “Cold as a Witch’s T*ts.” You’ve been living on mere hype for as long as I can remember now. Last year, your Circle of Legends Night proved that. That night was about showing you as a relic and releasing all the ghosts that you’ve collected in your closet. You needed pure luck and an overconfident loudmouth like David Capital just to regain whatever “respect” the people may have had for you. My adjustments thus far and those to come in more important matters are what separate me from Lowercase: I know that you have that “on any given Sunday” situation where you can still snatch up a win. I will never, EVER allow that to happen against a true hardcore warrior such as myself. In the School House Rock, you won’t have the fans around to pop when you do your stupid cartoon gimmick of reminding them what brain dead, Podunk, little town they live in. In the School of House Rock, you won’t be able to get by on your past glory and lucky breaks alone. In the School of House Rock, I’ll teach you what happens to fools crazy enough to challenge the Messiah of Destruction.



HJ: Fuego, I hope that you still have enough brain cells in your head to realize how important health insurance is because you’ll need it once I’m through with you. And barring divine intervention, you will die the death that your career did so many, many, many years ago. And when your “divine spirit” appears, they’ll laugh at the fool who sits in intensive care because they’ll know how stupid he must truly be because he was foolish enough to mess with HJ and found out the hard way what happens when you reach out and touch faith.

[HJ turns around; forcing the camera to focus on his back. Presented is a tattoo that covers the Messiah of Destruction’s back; indicating just what his beliefs are in his power and his heritage. Around an obviously battle-hardened warrior, it reads "No Man Alive Witnessed Struggles I Survived."]

[BDC]

[glow=red,2,300]The following Has Been Brought to you By The World's Sickest S.O.B.......En Fuego!!![/glow]

A dark boiler room. En Fuego sits in the poorly lighted room on the floor. He looks up slowly at the camera and cracks a slight smile.

Ya know, I was asked what in the blue hell I'm thinking. What am I doing challenging Hardcore Jesus to a fight at SOHK. Simple. If it's one thing that I can't stand, it's a bully. I mean, geez, any monster can beat up on a few jobbers and call it a career. I know 5 or 6 from the N.E.W. days right off the top of my head that did that. Man, I, like all the good people in Fayetteville are honestly getting sick and tired of Hardcore Jesus and his boring ass squash matches. Yawn.

Fuego lets out a fake yawn.

Now, before I go any further, I have a problem. You don't look very Hardcore. You're definitely no Jesus. So, I'm not sure what to call you. Got it. Bob. I'm going to call you Bob. Good. That's settled. Now Bob, you're last little blurbing kinda bothered ol' Fuego. First, my name. Nothing to do with wrestling, so relax. Got drunk in Mexico, too much tequila, fell in a camp fire. What are ya gonna do? Anywho. Next. My "playbook"? How many of my matches have you seen? You high or something. A.J. is drug testing, you might want to be careful. I go into every match, fight, brawl, family reunion, bowling match, golf game and friendly sit down of Cribbage with no game plan. You're going to get hurt, but that's about it.

Fuego shots a snot rocket.

So now, we're going to be locked in a school. Just us, no Dr. Black, no coach Harland, Beulah Ballbreaker, Feris isn't going to have a day off, just two nutty fruit cakes beating the crap out of one another. Oddly enough, it's in this school that I'm sitting in now. How appropriate that this show is named what it is. How fitting this is going to be taking place in a school. You're good at beating people up, I see that. We all have seen that. How good are you at taking a beating? This is your homework assignment. You're next promo, I want to see you take a beating. Have a couple goobers beat the snot Uta you. Unless you're scared. I've had enough beatings, I have nothing to prove. C'mon Bob. Take a beating for oL' Uncle Fuego.

Fuego pulls the hair he has left out of his eyes.

Oh. One more thing. Bob, I know where my faith lies, I know that I might not make it out of that school, but Bob, when I get up after everything you throw at me, that lump in your throat won't be fear, it'll be your liver!!

fade to static

fin'

[Nate Sipes/The New Level]

[Inside the familiar darkened room, an ominous glow represents the only light. It’s of a TV monitor which is playing En Fuego’s recent promo. It quickly becomes apparent that this tape of the promo has been watched over and over again during its short tenure as when Fuego does the yawn motion, the tape skips. His yawn repeats over and over again until, finally, a bottle of Jack Daniels flies through the TV monitor; the room left in darkness. For a few moments, the camera that’s been filming this is left in darkness. Suddenly, a slight “click” is heard and the room is illuminated again. The camera turns its attention to the source: Hardcore Jesus who reached up and pulled the light switch above him. He sits and stews in his chair for a moment before finally speaking.]

HJ: “Boring a** squash matches,” huh? Really made you yawn, did it? Considering the matches I’ve seen of yours from the past, I wouldn’t be talking about moments of boredom. “Oh look, that same, fat a**hole who says your hometown before his opponent bashes him in the head with a sledgehammer is giving his sh*t eating grin, again. Oh joy.”

[HJ chuckles before slowly rotating his head until he’s staring right into the camera. His eyes show a deep, dark, cold place that you wouldn’t expect from someone with “Jesus” in their name.]

HJ: Despite what the gospel-defying, retarded seals behind the guardrail may think about your cutesy, little promos, I’ve never been impressed with them or even your efforts inside the ring. You speak in a manner so that people will feel sorry for you. You want them to laugh at your comments but they’re laughing at your misery. You have to crack these idiotic jokes because it’s what makes you feel whole after the loss of brain cells, cartilage, and blood has left you empty.

[HJ holds his right hand up and strokes his beard as he thinks to himself.]

HJ: In fact, you know what you really are, Fuego? You’re one of these guys, whether they be an over-the-hill father or an Alzheimer’s infested grandfather, putting themselves onto a soapbox and spouting off tales about how they’re better than this guy or that guy and why this is supposedly true.

[HJ slowly lowers his hand as he focuses back on the camera.]

HJ: They continue this web of lies until, one day, they meet this person that they believe they’re better than and realize that their mouth’s written a check that they’re a** can never hope to cash. So, Fuego, despite what you did to lesser opponents in the Dark Ages, allow me to welcome you to the 21st Century with the most painful, most brutal beating that’s ever been recorded by modern man. Call me a bully if you believe that’s what I am because you’ll see why that statement’s way off base. While both bullies and I enjoy tormenting our victims, I don’t go quietly into the night when someone grows a set long enough to stand up to me. Bullies are people who feel misunderstood and take out their frustrations on the weak. I, on the other hand, crush my opponents’ souls because I’m d*mn good at it. While you dispute my rightful claim to the title of the Most Hardcore Man Alive, you’ll see just how hardcore I am when I beat you to death with nothing more but a piece of chalk in that d*mned school house.

[HJ reaches up and wipes the sweat from his brow; the room, obviously, is quite stuffy.]

HJ: As for your desires to see me beaten, that simply isn’t going to happen. The only way that’ll happen is if RCW gets a video game deal and even then it would be a fantasy to believe that I would lose. Even when the record book says that I lost the match, I’m not the one who ends up in the ER; my opponent fills that position. If you want to see someone get beaten badly then make sure whatever friend or supposed friend you have left tape our match and while your bones knit and your blood clots in the hospital, you can watch me dissect your fat, ugly, broken, disgusting body. As you lie there, realizing that ending your retirement was a mistake, you’ll be force to remember that your career was finally ended by the Messiah of Destruction, Hardcore Jesus.

[HJ reaches over to his right side and pulls up a new cane; this one being a walking cane that won’t break as easily as his old kendo stick. He gets a good grip on it before looking back to the camera.]

HJ: Then again, if you’re so interested in seeing someone get beaten at this time, then I think I can accomplish that.

[HJ swings as hard as he can as the camera falls to the ground; the last shot before it’s enveloped by static is of HJ’s feet and the floor.]