“He was born in the Winter of his 32nd year, coming home to a place he’d never been before. He left yesterday behind him, might say he’s born again,
might say he found the key to every door.”
(We begin with a shot of a rather average looking man, handsome yet a little on the husky side, clean shaven, with glasses, wearing a Philadelphia Phillies sweat shirt, sitting behind a large oak desk. The desk is so large that his lower extremities cannot be seen. He could be sitting there pant less for all we can tell at this point. The man is in his early-mid 30’s, but has a freakishly young looking face, he could pass for someone just out of high school/about to enter college. The man begins speaking directly into a camera set up in front of him, behind him sits numerous trophies and display cases, the usual shit, various trophies and championship belts from various wrestling promotions. Were you to see more detail, you’d see that each collection was categorized by region and promotion, American promotions are in one section of the room, foreign promotions in the other, and it’s broken down further still by territories and even by time. The man happens to be named Jon Tees but is not the same Jon Tees most are familiar with, this Jon Tees is in fact, very, very different. He appears to be rather nervous and tugs at his shirt, sniffs his hand a few times before he snaps out of it and leaves all of the previous nerves and jitters behind him. )
Jon Tees: Greetings I have something I need to get off of my chest. First and foremost allow me to introduce myself… my name is Jon Tees… that name may sound familiar to most of you, but obviously I am not at least to most. You see for the last seven-eight years I’ve been in a coma and an imposture, the very man who put me into said state, a rival wrestler known as Big Badd Wolf has been macerating as me in various promotions in an attempt to destroy my reputation and damage my legacy. And the majority of you morons actually fell for it… I honestly can’t believe how truly stupid you all are. I mean how stupid can people actually be? The guy was a fucking Aussie and I’m from Philadelphia PA. Did the incorrect accent not tip you off? Anyway, long story short, I have reclaimed my identity and taken care of Mr. Wolf… you will neither see nor hear anything from him ever again, he currently sits or rather lays in a comatose state in the hospital of a maximum security prison in his native Australia.
(Tees takes a pause and then proceeds to take a sip of water.)
Jon Tees: Some of you may miss Mr. Wolf or as I call him the “Big Badd Bitch.” And may associate him as being the quote on quote “real Jon Tees” but trust me. I’m the man who put FWF, Smack: CCW, The SWO, BWA and countless other promotions on the map. I retired Big Ern, made JJ Crawford famous, took Matt Holton under my wing transforming him from just my sidekick on commentary to a household name. I led countless wrestlers to championship gold and won more titles than I can remember. I once held the FWF World, United States and Television title simultaneously and was the longest reigning champion to hold any of those titles yet alone all of them. I guided my no talent nephew Rick to go undefeated in the original NWF for over a year, Rick was in prime position to win the NWF title in spite of his lack of ability, only for that fuck tard Diego Jarrett to suddenly decide to close the place down because he didn’t feel like running it anymore, and didn’t feel anyone else was “qualified” to replace his incompetent ass. Years later, I own The NWF free of charge due to my “friend” Mr. Wolf securing it for me while stealing my identity. Wolf always wanted to be me since January of 1999 when he began his career in The SWO, he emulated me right down to the letter walking and trying to talk like me, but it just never really worked. I felt sorry for the guy so gave him a spot in the Age Of The Renegade where I molded him into a fine wrestler and a world champion, imagine my surprise when after all I had done for that ungrateful son of a bitch, he decided to club me in the fucking head and put me in a coma for the last several years. If that wasn’t fucked up enough, he then finally got his wish and began passing himself off as me and you idiots bought it hook, line and sinker like the morons that you are. The man in the end proved to not only be a Jon Tees wanna be and a piss poor imitation but he also proved himself a fraud and a shyster. Speaking of frauds, wanna be’s and shysters that brings me to Big J. Jeremy Masters a man who walks around telling anyone who will give him five minutes of their time how he pretty much “invented” Hardcore wrestling. Dude I was wrestling hardcore before it even technically had a name. You know nothing of true pain and brutality but will get a crash course this week when you tangle with one of my associates Todd Westfile. You see Westfile is my mercenary in this tournament. I hired him to assist me in making up for lost time and reclaiming a legacy that rightfully belongs to me in spite of the fact that it was wrongfully stolen from me. Finally after long last, the one true, one and only, the original Jon Tees has returned.
(Tees smirks at the camera and the smirk turns more evil and menacing as the camera fades out.)
(We fade in to a ram-shackled cabin in the middle of nowhere. The place looks as though it’s been robbed and trashed and that whoever did it was looking for something in particular. The place is dark, very dark. Suddenly a dim lit comes on and in walks Todd Westfile covered in blood, brandishing a meat cleaver. In addition to his blood soaked formerly white apron, Westfile wears a black pair of khaki’s, a pair of black shoes and a black polo shirt. Suddenly the main theme from “Nightmare On Elm Street” Plays it is obviously Westfile’s cell phone, he reaches for it and pulls it from his back pocket. )
Todd Westfile: Yeah, talk to me.
(The phone’s settings are rather loud and we can actually hear the person on the other end. It’s none other than the very same man we hear from earlier who identified himself as “The Real Jon Tees”.)
Tees: So what do you want to do tonight Todd? You want to get together and hang out, visit a strip club, get laid, hit the town and paint it red with blood?
Westfile: Who else is going to be there, just me and you?
Tees: Nah, a couple of the guys. Rob has already agreed to come along and is looking forward to it and so has Frank.
Westfile: Forget it then, I fucking hate Frank every time I look at him I get an urge to gouge his fucking eyes out and strangle the life out of him, and whenever Rob comes to anything you always have to pay the Christine tax and quite frankly I hate that bitch, and always envision ripping her intestines out. And speaking of Rob the man has no fucking balls and might as well be castrated through I’m pretty sure Christine already beat me to it.
Tees: Maybe next time then.
Westfile: Next time it is, there’s always a next time.
Tees: Well not with this tournament it’s double elimination you lose this time it’s over it’s must win.
Westfile: Got it.
(We rejoin Westfile several hours later sitting in a pitch black room, just rocking back and forth menacingly.)
Westfile: Big J, simply put I’m going to hurt you, I’m going to cripple you and I’m going to end your career and you know something I’m going to enjoy every single second of it. Your misery will bring me pleasure. The same fate will befall you that befell your butt buddy Jeff Jackson when I choke the life out of you. You are nothing but a washed up, broken down, has-been who is put a shell of what he once was and was never that great to begin with. This certainly is not the ESW or any other rinky dink operation you’ve ever competed in and I’m like no one you have ever seen before nor will ever see again. I am the eater of worlds and of children and you my worthless, pitiful child are bit a mere offering, I will feast upon your bones, drink your blood and for dessert will devour your soul. Your time in this tournament, this company, this business is ticking. Tick Tick Tick, your days are no longer numbered, your hours are no longer numbered, your minutes are no longer numbered, your seconds are numbered and we are almost at the point where we finally collide and I bring a violent and brutal end to you once and for all.
(Slow fade to black with Westfile flashing an angry expression on his face while sticking a knife between his teeth.)