Post by Whitey Ford on Jun 13, 2011 23:40:41 GMT -4
::The AWA camera crew catches the newest staff member, Bekky, standing in the parking lot. The scene fades in as a limosuine pulls in behind her, and she waits for the right cue to turn and walk towards it from her crew members. The limo barely has enough time to stop before the back door flies open and Whitey Ford crawls out, wearing a plain black shirt and blue jeans. The fans in the arena are heard booing his arrival. His eyes are covered by sunglasses, which may or may not be to hide how...well, fucked up he really is. Ford staggers a bit as he shuts the door to the limo. The driver attempts to help him, but Ford readily motions him away.::
Whitey Ford: I'm WHITEY fuckin' FORD, you insignificant dick. Get the fuck back in your limo and be lucky I didn't piss in every ashtray in the back.
::The driver gets back into his ride, with haste.::
Whitey Ford: Fuckin'...like I need help doing anything, especially now.
::Ford steps to the back of the limo to pull his bag from the already popped trunk, and kicks the bumper to let the driver know its time to leave, quickly. The limo leaves, and Bekky makes her way over to the scene.::
Bekky: Mr. Ford, can I have a word with--
::Whitey cuts her off with a raised voice and a hand directly in front of her face.::
Whitey Ford: Bekky...don't fuckin' talk to me, I stopped buying hookers years ago.
::The rookie interviewer is taken back by the offensive comment, but regains her composure quickly.::
Bekky: Mr. Ford, I just want to ask you about your actions at Anarchy. They were unprecedented, and the fans are shocked, as are most of the AWA roster. Can you elaborate for me...please?
::Whitey starts to walk away, but a strange smile crosses over his face. He turns back to Bekky, dropping his bag on the cement and crossing his arms.::
Whitey Ford: Well, as long as the 'people' get to hear what I have to say...because thats really what matters, isn't it?
::Whitey gives an obviously exaggerataed sarcastic smile.::
Whitey Ford: Just don't stand too close or I might get sick. I can smell the clap that Green gave you from here. And by the way, give me that fuckin' mic. You don't interview me, bitch, I say what I want to say.
::Ford grabs the microphone from Bekky with force, prying it from her hands and shoving her away not too softly. The new interviewer has no idea how to react; you can't see Ford's eyes through the sunglasses, but the stare he gives her is none too friendly. A few long moments pass, and Ford snaps his head straight to look at the camera.::
Whitey Ford: So let me ask myself the question you all want answered. And that question is...WHY. Why, Whitey, would you turn your back on everyone who's supported you thorughout the years, the thousands of people who have cheered you and practically paid your bills for you by letting you entertain them? WHY...the fuck...indeed.
::Ford lets out a big sigh, getting a big emotional.::
Whitey Ford: For over a decade now, I have worked my ass off to become not just the best in the AWA, CWA, BWA, USCW, USHW, and god knows how many W's...but the best in my fan's eyes. I would take chances I never would have taken if I didn't think my fans would enjoy it. I held myself back from my potential because my fans wanted me to be...fair.
::Ford rips off his sunglasses, and his eyes are bloodshot and swollen. He doesn't look healthy...more manic and psychotic than anything. Whiteys voice is close to a yell now.::
Whitey Ford: I have been lit on fire, I have had broken bones, I have gone through psychotic episodes, and addiction after addiction after addiction, and do you people care about that?!? NO. Never have you cared about where I was unless I was in the middle of the ring, making you laugh and wish you were as great as me. Ever since I was born, I have always sought to impress my peers; and here I am. Over 30, and without anything to show for it. I am done playing nice...its time that I look out for me and me only. The Freak was a hanger-on, and entourages only work in the cool way in TV. I had to get rid of him...
::Ford seems to be at a loss of words for a second, his emotions getting the best of him. He clears his throat, and the sunglasses are put back over his face. In a strange turn, his voice goes back to being carefree...almost like the old days.::
Whitey Ford: Ryan Green seems to have the same mentality as me, but his was inherited from a life of being made fun of for being named after a color and a Seacrest. There...the similarities end. Green is just that...GREEN, compared to me. He is new enough compared to my gigantic fucking career that he might as well still be wearing pull ups...like the big boy he is. He interfered on my beatdown on that little fuckhead The Freak because he wanted to have an upper hand in our match, which was slated as soon as I re-entered the AWA to happen. He needs all the help he can get, whether its from somebody throwing in the towel for him or if its from a scrawny spitfuck that I carried through this entire escapade he can barely call a career for himself.
::Ford cuts himself off short with a deep breath...and a long pause. Bekky clears her throat, and cautiously moves the microphone closer to her so her voice can be heard. Ford is breathing heavily now, the stress seeming to mount and build, almost to a breaking point.::
Bekky: Any closing thoughts, Mr. Ford?
::Whitey smiles...but not in a good way. He reaches his hand up to push the hair behind Bekky's ear, who is too afraid to pull away...Ford's smile is nothing even close to indicating a safe gesture.::
Whitey Ford: I just need something from you, my little...whore. You broadcast this interview...you tell Ryan Green I will defeat him in our match...and you give this to him, to prove that I don't give a shit what people think, and that I've given up on every moral aspect of this socially accepted world.
::Whitey looks like he's about to move away...but then slaps Bekky hard across the face! She falls backwards againts a nearby car, and those watching run to her aid to make sure she doesn't fall. Two men take up arms against Ford; the first one swings and is met with a big short elbow to the jaw. The second sees this, and hesistates...only to be met with a big right hook and thrown head first into the car next to the assaulted interview. The first man staggers away...and Ford just chuckles to himself. The AWA arena is silent at this strange turn of character from a beloved favorite, and Whitey grabs his bags and heads to his locker room.::
***commercial break***
Whitey Ford: I'm WHITEY fuckin' FORD, you insignificant dick. Get the fuck back in your limo and be lucky I didn't piss in every ashtray in the back.
::The driver gets back into his ride, with haste.::
Whitey Ford: Fuckin'...like I need help doing anything, especially now.
::Ford steps to the back of the limo to pull his bag from the already popped trunk, and kicks the bumper to let the driver know its time to leave, quickly. The limo leaves, and Bekky makes her way over to the scene.::
Bekky: Mr. Ford, can I have a word with--
::Whitey cuts her off with a raised voice and a hand directly in front of her face.::
Whitey Ford: Bekky...don't fuckin' talk to me, I stopped buying hookers years ago.
::The rookie interviewer is taken back by the offensive comment, but regains her composure quickly.::
Bekky: Mr. Ford, I just want to ask you about your actions at Anarchy. They were unprecedented, and the fans are shocked, as are most of the AWA roster. Can you elaborate for me...please?
::Whitey starts to walk away, but a strange smile crosses over his face. He turns back to Bekky, dropping his bag on the cement and crossing his arms.::
Whitey Ford: Well, as long as the 'people' get to hear what I have to say...because thats really what matters, isn't it?
::Whitey gives an obviously exaggerataed sarcastic smile.::
Whitey Ford: Just don't stand too close or I might get sick. I can smell the clap that Green gave you from here. And by the way, give me that fuckin' mic. You don't interview me, bitch, I say what I want to say.
::Ford grabs the microphone from Bekky with force, prying it from her hands and shoving her away not too softly. The new interviewer has no idea how to react; you can't see Ford's eyes through the sunglasses, but the stare he gives her is none too friendly. A few long moments pass, and Ford snaps his head straight to look at the camera.::
Whitey Ford: So let me ask myself the question you all want answered. And that question is...WHY. Why, Whitey, would you turn your back on everyone who's supported you thorughout the years, the thousands of people who have cheered you and practically paid your bills for you by letting you entertain them? WHY...the fuck...indeed.
::Ford lets out a big sigh, getting a big emotional.::
Whitey Ford: For over a decade now, I have worked my ass off to become not just the best in the AWA, CWA, BWA, USCW, USHW, and god knows how many W's...but the best in my fan's eyes. I would take chances I never would have taken if I didn't think my fans would enjoy it. I held myself back from my potential because my fans wanted me to be...fair.
::Ford rips off his sunglasses, and his eyes are bloodshot and swollen. He doesn't look healthy...more manic and psychotic than anything. Whiteys voice is close to a yell now.::
Whitey Ford: I have been lit on fire, I have had broken bones, I have gone through psychotic episodes, and addiction after addiction after addiction, and do you people care about that?!? NO. Never have you cared about where I was unless I was in the middle of the ring, making you laugh and wish you were as great as me. Ever since I was born, I have always sought to impress my peers; and here I am. Over 30, and without anything to show for it. I am done playing nice...its time that I look out for me and me only. The Freak was a hanger-on, and entourages only work in the cool way in TV. I had to get rid of him...
::Ford seems to be at a loss of words for a second, his emotions getting the best of him. He clears his throat, and the sunglasses are put back over his face. In a strange turn, his voice goes back to being carefree...almost like the old days.::
Whitey Ford: Ryan Green seems to have the same mentality as me, but his was inherited from a life of being made fun of for being named after a color and a Seacrest. There...the similarities end. Green is just that...GREEN, compared to me. He is new enough compared to my gigantic fucking career that he might as well still be wearing pull ups...like the big boy he is. He interfered on my beatdown on that little fuckhead The Freak because he wanted to have an upper hand in our match, which was slated as soon as I re-entered the AWA to happen. He needs all the help he can get, whether its from somebody throwing in the towel for him or if its from a scrawny spitfuck that I carried through this entire escapade he can barely call a career for himself.
::Ford cuts himself off short with a deep breath...and a long pause. Bekky clears her throat, and cautiously moves the microphone closer to her so her voice can be heard. Ford is breathing heavily now, the stress seeming to mount and build, almost to a breaking point.::
Bekky: Any closing thoughts, Mr. Ford?
::Whitey smiles...but not in a good way. He reaches his hand up to push the hair behind Bekky's ear, who is too afraid to pull away...Ford's smile is nothing even close to indicating a safe gesture.::
Whitey Ford: I just need something from you, my little...whore. You broadcast this interview...you tell Ryan Green I will defeat him in our match...and you give this to him, to prove that I don't give a shit what people think, and that I've given up on every moral aspect of this socially accepted world.
::Whitey looks like he's about to move away...but then slaps Bekky hard across the face! She falls backwards againts a nearby car, and those watching run to her aid to make sure she doesn't fall. Two men take up arms against Ford; the first one swings and is met with a big short elbow to the jaw. The second sees this, and hesistates...only to be met with a big right hook and thrown head first into the car next to the assaulted interview. The first man staggers away...and Ford just chuckles to himself. The AWA arena is silent at this strange turn of character from a beloved favorite, and Whitey grabs his bags and heads to his locker room.::
***commercial break***
