002 | The Jack Owyns Show
Sept 15, 2016 17:59:38 GMT
Valentina Lemay, Ernie Parker, and 6 more like this
Post by Jack Owyns on Sept 15, 2016 17:59:38 GMT
FADE IN:
INT. HOME OF JACK OWYNS – THE BRONX – SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2016
The room is dark besides the faint light being cast off by the television set. What we can see of the living-room gives off the appearance that it belongs to a low-income home. It’s definitely the type of home you would expect to find on skid row occupied by homeless people and/or addicts. There’s a brown leather recliner inside the room that has seen better days thanks to the fact duct tape is holding it together the rips that have foam seeping out of them. The ancient television set that is casting the light inside the room is sitting on top of a makeshift coffee table that has been made from two milk crates and a piece of plywood.
To cap off the delightful atmosphere that is this living-room, garbage, empty beer bottles and cans, and two-sixes (750ml liquor bottles for those who were unaware) were scattered everywhere. In the midst of all the filth is Jack Owyns and he is pacing back and forth. In his hands, he holds a 200ml bottle of King’s County Distillery’s bourbon whiskey. He takes a swig of the whiskey as he listens and soaks up the information that is being relayed to him from the television set. Obviously what’s being said isn’t good news but judging from the expression on Jack’s face he appears to be handling the situation rather well.
VOICE (O.S): “A damaged knee.”
Fast Forward.
VOICE (O.S.): “No Skill.”
Fast forward.
VOICE (O.S.): “Loss after loss.”
Fast forward.
VOICE (O.S.): “Washed up.”
Fast forward.
VOICE (O.S.): “Stupid.”
Fast forward.
VOICE (O.S.): “All talk.”
Jack raises the bottle of bourbon whiskey to his mouth and finishes the dark liquid. He stops with the back and forth pacing and turns himself towards the television set. The expression on his face changes. He’s now wearing a cocky smirk.
JACK OWYNS: “HA!”
The actual light to the living room turns on, catching Jack Owyns by surprise. As his eyes flicker to try and adjust to the light, he spins around to find the reason he’s now being practically blinded. Oddball, Jack’s longtime manager, is standing with his back against the door to the main entrance. Oddball is practically beaming.
JACK OWYNS: “What the fuck?!”
ODDBALL: “Jack! Do I ever have some fantastic news for you! Like, incredible news! See, I was sitting there the other day… well standing. I was standing and thinking while making a ham and cheese sandwich which, by the way, tastes just awful if the bread is green. It’s not a tasty sandwich. Like, I thought maybe this was some new brand of bread. People could actually like their bread to be green. But this guy? Oh no. Not this guy, Jack. Green bread just isn’t for me. I find that funny though, because I like green. Like I like green-”
JACK OWYNS: “The news Oddball!”
Jack looks annoyed.
ODDBALL: “News?”
JACK OWYNS: “For fuck sakes, man. You just said you had news to tell me.”
Oddball gives Jack a blank stare until suddenly the lightbulb goes off. He does have news! Oddball’s vacant look is replaced by a shit eating grin.
ODDBALL: “RIGHT!”
Oddball claps and then rubs his hands together.
ODDBALL (CONT’D): “The news! So there I was yesterday making a sandwich. It was my ham and cheese specialty.”
JACK OWYNS: “If this news is about a goddamn ham and cheese sandwich I will punch you in the fuckin’ face.”
Oddball shook his head.
ODDBALL: “No. Oh no, Jack. My buddy. My ole’ pal. My best friend forever.”
JACK OWYNS: “We ain’t best friends.”
ODDBALL: “That’s what you think. After I tell you the news, I won’t just be your manager or agent. You will think of me as your best friend forever. B-F-Fs, Jack! B-F-Fs! Besties! We can tell each other stories. We can go to the movies. Oh! We can our own unique pub and go for drinks. AND WINGS!!!! Jack! We can go for wings!”
JACK OWYNS: “Seriously, Oddball. I’m about to fuckin’ just knock ya out.”
ODDBALL: “Okay, okay back to the point. So there I was yesterday making—“
JACK OWYNS: “I swear to fuckin’ God if you start talking about that fuckin’ sandwich again-”
Oddball puts his hands up.
ODDBALL: “Fine. Moving passed the sandwich. I know you and I both want Mackenzie back in our lives. And I also know that you want to use EOW as a way to show Deanna that you are, in fact, a changed man. In your quest to do that, you are going to win the Ultimate Championship to show her you really do take this seriously. Between you and me though, Jack, I think you’ve always taken it seriously but just fell on some rough times. I fell on rough times once, Jack.
JACK OWYNS: “Just get to point.”
ODDBALL: “About my rough times?”
JACK OWYNS: “NO! Why you are here? What fuckin’ news do you have to tell me?”
ODDBALL: “RIGHT! Jack, I think you need to sit down for this.”
JACK OWYNS: “I’m not sitting.”
ODDBALL: “You sure? This news is going to sweep you right off your feet.”
JACK OWYNS: “Just spit out.”
Oddball smiles as he placed his right hand on the doorknob.
ODDBALL: “Brace yourself. I got to thinking that you are determined to get both Mac and the Ultimate Championship. You know that you need to prove to Deanna that the old Jack is old news, and that you’re the new, winning Jack. But Jack, I just don’t think that winning on Sunday and moving on with your quest for the championship will be enough. I know Deanna and that just won't do. So you want to know what I did?”
Oddball looks for Jack to respond. Jack didn’t oblige.
ODDBALL: “Not even going to guess? One guess?”
Jack just shakes his head.
ODDBALL: “Alright. Just take all the fun out of it. So I got to thinking about how I can help you. Then it dawned on me when I was trying my hardest to finish that green ham and cheese sandwich. Ohmygod, Jack! There is a book about that! Green—“
JACK OWYNS: “No there isn’t.”
ODDBALL: “I’m pretty sure there is.”
JACK OWYNS: “There fuckin’ isn’t.”
ODDBALL: “If you give me back my iPad I can show you. Green ham and cheese.”
JACK OWYNS: “It’s fuckin’ ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ fuck face.”
ODDBALL: “Oh. Yep. That sounds about right. God! You are so smart. You think I should create a book on green ham and cheese?”
JACK OWYNS: “No. I think you should just fuckin’ tell me what the fuck you were going to fuckin’ tell me before I throw you through that fuckin’ door!”
ODDBALL: “You’re so angry Jack; just so mad.”
Oddball starts turning the knob of the door to open it.
ODDBALL (CONT’D): “You know what the best way is for Deanna to see that you have changed? You have to show her that you’ve changed in your daily life as well! So you know what I did, Jack? I signed a contract. You’re going to have your own show! ‘The Jack Owyns Show’ is what it’ll be called!”
JACK OWYNS: “What?”
ODDBALL: “A reality show with cameras rolling all day, every day.”
Oddball opens the door and an entire camera team stands on the front steps of Jack’s porch. They’re already filming.
ODDBALL: "Surprise!"
JACK OWYNS: “What the fuck?!”
ODDBALL: “Just be you, Jack!”
In a flash, Jack quickly ripped off his hoodie as the camera team began to invade his privacy. He drops the hoodie over the coffee table hiding the 9mm handgun and his stash of drugs before the fact he hadn’t changed at all could get broadcasted all over television.
ODDBALL: “Don’t mind the mess! We just moved in.”
Jack starts walking towards Oddball with his fists clenched.
ODDBALL: “Just pretend they aren’t even here. Just be normal. Just—“
Oddball’s speech was cut short as Jack’s fist connects with the other man’s head. Jack begins to pound Oddball with kicks and punches.
CUT TO:
INT. ODDBALL’S DIARY ROOM – HOME OF JACK OWYNS – 10 MINUTES LATER
Oddball sits in a bean bag chair. His nose appears broken and he’s bleeding quite a bit from a huge gash on his forehead.
ODDBALL: “I think he’s under a lot of stress. He really wants to win his upcoming match for Mac. Mac, or Mackenzie if you will, is Jack’s daughter. She’s like the daughter I never, ever had. I don’t actually have a daughter, but if I did, it would be Mac. You think I could ever have a daughter?”
VOICE (O.S.): “I think we should take you to the hospital.”
ODDBALL: “I'm all right. This is all fake. It’s just makeup.”
Oddball touches his forehead with his finger and then looks at his finger.
ODDBALL: “It’s just…”
Oddball goes white at the sight of his own blood and his eyes start rolling back.
ODDBALL: “Fake.”
Oddball passes out.
CUT TO:
VICTORY PROMO
“Oh Mysti. You must be high. I caught wind of your ‘promo’, if you wanna call it that, and these two parts really stood out and got my attention. They right out just fuckin’ annoyed me. In case you’re asking yourself which part, well let me explain, bitch. You claim I lack a solid wrestling background. You fuckin’ kidding me? What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for the last thirteen years, huh? It sure ain’t sitting around a campfire, playing the fuckin’ bongo, passing a joint, and singing Kumba-fucking-yah. Now as far as me not having any fuckin’ skill, do you even know who the fuck I am? I’m starting to think those dreads are a little too tight and they’re fuckin’ with your brain. But I’ll tell ya this. If you don’t know who the fuck I am and you unluckily draw my name in the lethal lottery, I’m going to show you just who the fuck I actually am. From bell to fuckin’ bell that lack of a solid wrestling background you claim I have is going to out-wrestle you from here to kingdom fuckin’ come.
Settle down, Felix. Not that kind of come.
Mysti, you think you got my number, but you don’t have shit. If you’d pay attention for a single moment, you’d fuckin’ realize that my wrestling skill is far superior to yours. You think you got heavier strikes than me? You’re throwing 120 pounds behind each punch. I’m throwing 254 pounds behind each punch. You get the point? The worst possible outcome for you is drawing my name in the lethal lottery because I have your fuckin’ number in so many areas that make me better than you. The strengths that you think you have in the ring - awareness, striking, and counters - ain’t going to do shit for you because I’m by far better in all three areas. I don’t make this shit up. It’s all FACT!
This dude. Matthew Page. Get the fuck out of here! Originality and creativity isn’t exactly the strong suit of many. This is a category that you, out of all people, master because I’ve heard all that you have fuckin’ said. You have lame ass comebacks and you lack it in so many areas. You want to beat me? Well you better dig deep and get fuckin’ creative because that’s the only chance you have of successfully defeating me. Of course, that ain’t no chance at all because speed and quickness are your downfall, BRAH!
It ain’t no fuckin’ secret that I’m faster than you. I will leave you frustrated inside that ring and play with that short temper you have because no matter what you fuckin’ do, I’ll just keep getting back up. I’ll keep coming back at ya. Your biggest advantage is your size and strength. Well mother fucker, I’m bigger than you and a hell of a lot stronger. I’m aggressive inside that ring and I never stop moving forward. No matter what you do, I’ll always be right fuckin’ there.
Felix Harley, you want original? It ain’t easy when every second female wrestler is a whore. Words become the same and all good burns become used and rehashed like a fuckin’ broken record. But I get it. It fuckin’ grows old, you know? You hear the same shit about yourself over and over again. I listen to the same shit said about me over and over again. Tell me Felix, if you don’t want to be called a fuckin’ slut, then what the fuck do you want to be called, huh? You’re a bitch that is known to date multiple members of the locker room and brag about it on social media. You’re a bitch that’s more curious about the size of a dick than actually figuring out what happens if you draw Jack Owyns’ name and actually have to face him inside the ring. So if you don’t want to be called a fuckin’ slut, would you rather be a called a promiscuous fuckin’ woman? What about a goddamn floozy?
You have a single loss on your record. Well ain’t that fuckin’ impressive? I got to fuckin’ tell you something, Ass, Class, and Sass. Draw my fuckin’ name and that record will have two fuckin’ losses on it. Step into the ring with me and I will fuckin’ dominate you. I will manhandle you with my fuckin’ strength. I will pound you fuckin’ hard with my power. I may be fuckin’ fast, but I can go all night fuckin’ long. HA! I doubt your fuckin’ 112-pound body can fuckin’ handle me. I’ve been known to split bitches in half!
And then we got fuckin’ Mr. Weak, Finn Whelan, standing at six-foot-four and weighing in at 174 pounds. Everybody on the fuckin’ Victory roster hits harder than you but one female. Your fuckin’ strength falls in with most women on the roster. No fuckin’ wonder Aaron Asphyxia wears the pants in your relationship. No fuckin’ wonder you don’t remain calm under pressure. DUDE! Come on! Hand over your fuckin’ man card, HA! Fuckin’ kill yourself.
You fuckin’ think I got myself into a hole and I can’t get out. If you end up facing me, you’ll learn real fuckin’ quick that the only person here that has dug himself a hole and can’t get out is you. I will make you angry and whatever game plan you have come up with will go right out the window. I will out wrestle you and I will fucking rip you apart with my strength and speed. And then when your head is all fucked up and you’re full of anger, that recklessness you possess will be exposed. I will capitalize on that and I will finish you, you fuckin’ pussy ass bitch.
I don’t even fuckin’ know where to begin with Jason Kaine. I listened to you fuckin’ speak and it made me scratch my head like I got fuckin’ lice. You’re all over the damn place. If you’re the symbol of the industry, then God help us all. You’re fuckin’ 35, got into the business at 30, and you think you’re a fuckin’ legend. Bitch, you haven’t even touched the surface. You don’t even know what fuckin’ company you work for. What the fuck is EOV, huh?!
Never heard of this fuck, Bryan Williams, but the dude is apparently right up there with me in experience. Of course, his actual wrestling technique is nowhere close to what I fuckin’ possess. His cardio is near fuckin’ top notch but word on the street is if you keep coming at him, you’ll bypass the fuckin’ cardio and can seal the deal. Sounds fuckin’ great to me! Bryan, my strength, striking, and speed will keep me coming fuckin’ right at ya. I’ll never ease up and give ya a chance to fuckin’ recover.
Last but not fuckin’ least, we have Connor Jacobs. This is the fuck that got it right when he referred to me as a mother fuckin’ legend. He hopes, he says, that he would to face love me. Dude, get the fuck off my dick. You don’t want to fuckin’ meet me. You don’t want to have anything to fuckin’ do with me. Grumpy old man syndrome. Fuck. Dude, I’m 31-years old. Want to have a speed competition? I’d fuckin’ beat you. I’d still be running while you’re back there, hunched over, and trying to catch your damn breath. You’d be screaming ‘SLOW DOWN, JACK! SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!’ You are green as fuckin’ green can be seeing as how this is your first wrestling company. To draw my name would only be a fuckin’ death sentence. You may be as technically sound as me in the ring, but that won’t help you. You can’t fuckin’ touch my experience. This is the first time you’re wrestling in front of a packed crowd and you’re fighting in a match that has championship implications. You’ll have 1,200 people staring at you. Lets see how focused you can be on the actual task at hand. If you get lost in it, dude, I’ll make you fuckin’ pay.
You all can question me and my abilities all you want, but the truth fuckin’ is none of you punks got shit on ME!
HA!”
