The Face of Time (Terry Bradshaw) (Showcase/KWF)
May 19, 2017 22:17:16 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer and Swinny like this
Post by strangerdanger on May 19, 2017 22:17:16 GMT -5
Our scene opens up with a livid Terry Bradshaw stomping down a hallway. Location, unknown. Fresh out of jail for his assualt in New York on innocent people, Terry is clearly upset about something. He comes to a door, and loosens the collar on his suit shirt as he mumbles to himself. We can only assume that his feathers are ruffled because he has learned that at the first XHF Network show, he will be representing KWF in a match against another KWF talent, Gold-Borg.
: Why that son of a... I'll show him! Book me in a match, why don't ya! This madness isn't gonna fly, not with Ol' Terry Bradshaw, no sir. THIS....THIS WILL NOT STAND!
With a sudden burst of rage and energy, Terry kicks in what he THINKS is the door to the office of the KWF Owner's office. Terry barges in and immediately begins screaming:
: JUST WHAT IN THE BLUE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, HUH?
Pause.
: You stuck me in a match with a complete and utter MONSTER. A vessel of destruction! A spawn of SATAN HIMSELF! So tell me, sir, WHY?! WHY did you book me in a debut match against an inhumane BEAST such as the VICIOUS CREATURE that I am meant to face at Showcase?! HUH?! RIDDLE ME THAT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!
Silence. We remain focused on Terry, as he continues to make his point.
: Y'know, when I signed my contract to compete in the Kingdom, I expected just about anything. I knew the possibilities where just about endless, But now, on this day, I get released from jail for some made-up charge that I'm pretty sure doesn't exist, they called it "ASS-HALT" or something when all I ever did was whoop some ass on the mean streets of New York, I didn't do anything Patrick Swayze didn't do in the movie Roadhouse. But then, my BEST FRIEND CK "Rat Bastard" Owens picks me up from jail and he tells me you booked me in a match against THE BEAST INCARNATE!
More silence. Terry waits for a response, but when there is none, he continues to wag his finger in the direction of what we can for now assume is the owner of KWF as if he is giving a harsh lecture of some sort.
: So HOW? HOW? HOW do you expect me to compete with MERYL STREEP?!?
Once again, silence. The camera pans around the room for the first time, revealing that Terry is not in the office of any KWF authority. Rather, he is in a room that is completely vacant, and apparently, he is screaming at a CLOCK.
: AFTER WHAT SHE SAID ABOUT OUR PRESIDENT, DONALD TRUMP?!? You booked me in a match with a TRAITOR! A Mercenary! A renegade! You might as well have booked me to face ISIS!
The clock, well, is a clock, so it doesn't reply, because it's not like, a human, or anything. It's just a clock. All it does is tick, and tell time. Visually, not verbally.
: YEAH, REAL FUNNY, ASSHOLE. I HEAR YOU MUMBLING UNDER YOUR BREATH. "TICK TICK TICK", I GET IT! Like....tick tock, time's up, time to face a traitor to this great country and its rightfully elected leader! If you and Meryl have no respect for good leadership, than why should I? Why, I outta deck you in the kisser, right now! The only thing that's stopping me from doing that is-
Just then, Terry's cell phone begins to ring, he takes it out and looks at the touch screen, to see who is calling him.
: Hold on one second, I gotta take this. It's my best friend CK "Rat Bastard" Owens.
Terry answers his phone, as he mouths the word "Sorry" to the clock, because he doesn't want to be rude. What proceeds is one half of a phone coversation; Bradshaw doesn't put CK "Rat Bastard" Owens on speakerphone, so we only hear his side of the exchange:
: Yeah, I'm busy, what? ....Yeah. ....Yeah. Oh, of course, that makes sen- WHAT?!?!?!? Hold on, hold on, say that again. ...Sooo then I'm not facing Meryl Streep. Well thank God for that. I don't know what I would have done to cripple that monster. ...Yeah she's quite a desolate and Satantic creature, I agree. Who am I facing? ...WHO? ...The FUCK is a Gold-borg? ...Sorry, I'm not following. ...Okay, yeah, I got the name. I get it. What's the concept behind the guy, what makes him tick? ...Yeah.........Yeah. Uh-huh. ....Uh-huh....Right, right. Okay. .... Yeah Listen, I've gotta say, not one bit of that makes any god damn sense to me in the slightest. Can you send me a picture of him, so I know what he looks like at least? ...Yeah, fine. Okay, I'm waiting. Hold on, I think I've got it.
A notification beep comes from Terry's phone, as he looks down at the screen. He looks at the picture for a moment. It is a picture of Gold-Borg. Terry stares at it for disbelif, then gets back on the phone with his buddy CK "Rat Bastard" Owens.
: Uhhh... yeah.... I got it. NO THIS DOESN'T MAKE THINGS MUCH BETTER. I'VE GOTTA GO, MEET ME BEHIND THE DUMPSTER AT THAT DIVE BAR BEHIND YOUR TRAILER. YEAH..... YEAH, YOU CAN TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DRUNKEN ANTICS LATER. I'VE GOTTA GO. THANKS A LOT.
Terry hangs up the phone, then pulls up the image of Gold-Borg on his cell phone screen, and shows it to the CLOCK. So the Clock can see what Terry thinks it booked him against at the upcoming Showcase event.
: WHAT...IN THE DAISY RIDLEY SCOTT.... IS THAT?
The clock just continues to tick, not saying a word, because it's still just a clock and nothing more. Also, "Daisey Ridley Scott" is not a real phrase.
: ARE YOU INSANE? ARE YOU SOME KIND OF CRAZY PERSON? YOU BOOKED ME IN A MATCH AGAINST A HALF MAN, HALF WOLF, HALF GOLD ARMORED MONSTER? THATS THREE HALVES, IT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE!! I AM OUTRAGED.
Terry spits on the floor to display his discontent. Wiping some saliva from his foaming mouth, he stares deep into the face of the clock, and continues to go on a rampage of epic proportions.
: I'm about to tell you what I think about Gold-Borg right now, but the only way I know how to do such a thing, is with something everyone knew me for well, from way back in the 70's. And no, it's not from playing in the NFL. It's for doing freestyle raps.
Terry straightens his tie, and clears his throat.
: Check it, check it.
KWF booked me in this whack-ass match
A match that's even whacker than my ex-wife's snatch (she had AIDS)
They're all like "Yo dawg, this is who you fight"
I saw the picture, could not believe the sight
Half man, half wolf, half gold, what's the deal?
Sad to see he'll be the first to know that Bradshaw's REAL
They call me Terry, magic like a fairy
Look into my eyes you'll see I'm really quite scary
Goldy Locks will see me and he'll know what's up
I'm like a wild tiger and he's just a furry little pup
Gold-Borg? More like Old-Borg! More like MOLD-BORG!
Cause boy you rotten like a bad apple!
I look at you and drink it in, I'm vodka, you're just Snapple!
I'm for ADULTS son, but you're really just for kids
I put your career for sale on Ebay, FREE and still got no bids!
Bradshaw is back and ain't nobody dance like me!
I dance on graves of enemies, you dance like you're on Glee!
Sick references bro, I got em by the dozens
You facin me at Showcace boy, but you gon' wish that you wasn't!
BRADSHAW OUT!
Terry finishes struggling through this painfully bad freestyle, then "drops" and invisible mic in front of the clock. Because why not? He's in the zone.
: SEE THAT? DO YOU SEE WHAT I CAN DO, YOU CROOKED S.O.B.? I AM NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH.
The clock doesn't react. Again, we can't emphasize this enough, but it's just a clock.
: I...I....
We think for a moment that Terry Bradshaw may be recognizing the error of his ways. But instead...
: I AM BEGINNING TO FEEL LIKE A RAP GOD, RAP GOD. ALL THE PEOPLE FROM THE FRONT TO THE BACK NOD, BACK NOD.
Terry seems to be expecting some sort of reply from the clock, but like we've stated many times already, it's still just a clock. It's not gonna say anything.
: NOW WHO THINKS THEIR ARMS ARE LONG ENOUGH TO SLAP BOX, SLAP BOX. THEY SAID I RAP LIKE A ROBOT SO CALL ME RA-
Suddenly, a deep and ominous voice bursts from the confines of this room.
: TERRY BRADSHAWWWWWW.
: ....What?
: TERRY BRADSHAWWW. HEAR MY WORDS, AND HEAR THEM WELL. YOU SUCK AT RAPPING. NEVER DO THAT AGAIN. ALSO, I AM NOT THE OWNER OF THE KWF.
: ...Uh...You're not?
: NO. I AM BUT A SIMPLE CLOCK. AN INSTRUMENT, A TOOL, CREATED FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF LETTING YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS.
: Ohhh. "What time it is". I get it. Like you're telling me what's up with my wrestling career.
: NO! I KNOW ALL AND SEE ALL, AND I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT WRESTLING. BESIDES YOU'RE LIKE 80, YOU HAVE NO BUISNESS BEING IN A WRESTLING RING. WHAT I MEAN IS, I TELL YOU, LITERALLY, WHAT TIME IT IS. YOU KNOW, LIKE ONE O'CLOCK. TWO O'CLOCK. THREE O'CLOCK. I'M THE CLOCK IN THAT PHRASE, YOU IDIOT.
: Ohh, I didn't realize I was speaking to a CELEBRITY. You're the Miley Cyrus of things that actually matter, you know that? Nobody cares about time, we all are born and then later at some point we die. So what's your game? What kind of mind games are you playing with me right now?
: I'M NOT SPEAKING IN BACKWARDS RIDDLES YOU SIMPLETON. I WAS CREATED SO YOU WOULD KNOW WHAT TIME OF DAY IT IS. YOU KNOW, NIGHT TIME, DAY TIME, MORNING. SHIT LIKE THAT. YOUR PROBLEM IS NOT WITH ME, NOR IS IT WITH THE POWERS THAT BE IN THE KWF, NO, NO, NO. YOUR ISSUES LIE WITH YOUR SCHEDUALED OPPONENT, AND HE ONLY. HE WHO GOES BY THE NAME OF GOLD-BORG.
: That's....wait, what?
: GOLD-BORG, YOU FUCKING IDIOT. YOU'RE SITTING HERE TALKING TO A CLOCK LIKE IT'S GOING TO DO YOU ANY GOOD. YOU NEED TO PREPARE FOR YOUR MATCH BY TRAINING, NOT BY SCREAMING AT AN INANIMATE FUCKING OBJECT. ARE YOU MENTALLY DISABLED OR SOMETHING? THE MATCH, YOU IDIOT, THE MATCH. FOCUS ON THAT. IT'S A WASTE OF ENERGY SPENDING YOUR TIME SCREAMING AT ME, A SIMPLE CLOCK. WAKE UP AND WISE UP. I CAN'T SAVE YOU, I CAN ONLY PROVIDE YOU WITH THE INFORMATION NEEDED TO SEE HOW MUCH TIME YOU HAVE UNTIL YOUR MATCH BEGINS. I AM SIMPLY AN AGENT OF TIME. GOLD-BORG MUST BE YOUR FOCUS. GOLD-BORG MUST BE THE OBJECT OF YOUR RAGE. GOLD-BORG MUS-
: Okay, I get it, alright? Stop screaming at me, you sound like a crazy person.
: I'M NOT THE ONE WHO'S TALKING TO A FUCKING CLOCK.
: HEY, WATCH YOUR MOUTH, CLOCK. IF I DIDN'T KNOW ANY BETTER, I'D SAY YOU WERE IN CAHOOTS WITH AJ PHOENIX.
: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOU-
: DON'T INTERRUPT ME. You know, for a clock, you're super rude, and I'm gonna let you know right now, I don't appreciate it. Just like I don't appreciate being booked in a match against some science fiction CREATURE from outer space. If this is what I think it is, then the aliens are no doubt on their way here to earth to invade, just like in that movie...
: Independence Day?
: No, the other one.
: Alien?
: No that's not it.
: Predator? AlienS? Alien 3? Alien Resurrection? District 9? Prometheus? Alien: Covenant? Attack the Block? Mars Attacks? Which one? WHICH ONE?
: NONE OF THOSE. Those don't sound right. I think it was called Paul Blart: Mall Cop.
: Jesus fuckin Christ, alright. Alright. I see what this is. Clearly you can't be reasoned or negotiated with. You're not taking this seriously, are you? You are completely insane.
: MAYBE. BUT THERE'S ONE THING YOU FORGOT, CLOCK.
: And what would that be?
Terry Bradshaw holds up an index finger, as if to say "one second". He pops out of the room, then comes back a moment later with what appears to be a large can of gasoline. He begins to dump it all over the room, as The Clock becomes uneasy.
: Wha- What is that? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
Terry lights a cigrarette, and begins to smoke it as he smiles at the clock.
: You may have won the battle of verbal jabs, brilliant clock. But you haven't won the war. You have shown me the light. You have shown me that I must not only face my fears, but that I must destroy them as well. Father Time has never been kind to me. You see my hair? It's been exactly like this since I was 11 FUCKING YEARS OLD. One day, I had a full head of thick, gorgeous, lustrous, wavy blonde hair. I woke up one day, and MOST OF IT WAS GONE and what was left was gray. Did I dye it? Did I get hair plugs? No sir, I accepted my fate. Just as Gold-Borg must accept his fate, when he FEELS THE LASH OF MY OPRESSIVE WHIP at Showcase, in the middle of the ring. JUST AS YOU, SIR CLOCK, WILL FEEL MY LASH. You wanna know what you forgot?
: Yeah, I already asked you what I forgot, you desolate fool. Then you started rambling and going on and on about the "light" and your hair, and your stupid wrestling match. So what is it? What have I forgotton?
Terry takes a long, satisfying drag from his cigarette, and blows the smoke directly into the face of the clock. The Clock isn't a smoker, so it coughs.
: You forgot... that some men just want to watch the world burn.
: Wait....WAIT!
The clock protests, as Terry exits the room. He opens the door that he kicked in earlier, and takes one last glance back at the clock.
: Goodnight, sweet prince.
Terry flicks his cigarette into the room, setting the floor, walls, ceiling, and most tragically, The Clock itself, on fire. The Clock's screams and shreiks can be heard from miles away, as Terry puts on a pair of black sunglasses, and exits the room. Was the clock ever a real being with thoughts and feelings? Or did Terry simply walk into an empty room and have a full conversation with a normal clock? Was this all a hallucination? We can never be sure. All that we do know for sure, was that this was not XHF Headquarters. Nor was this KWF Headquarters. No, this was a hospital, and there were a lot of sick people in there who needed help. Terry doesn't know the difference, as he casually walks out of the burning building along with hundreds of screaming staff and patients alike. Terry has proven that he is ready to face Gold-Borg at Showcase.
: Gold-borg? More like... Gold-DORK. HA! That was a good one, I should have told that one to The Clock.
Terry climbs into the back of a limousine and races away out of the parking lot as our scene fades out.
: Why that son of a... I'll show him! Book me in a match, why don't ya! This madness isn't gonna fly, not with Ol' Terry Bradshaw, no sir. THIS....THIS WILL NOT STAND! With a sudden burst of rage and energy, Terry kicks in what he THINKS is the door to the office of the KWF Owner's office. Terry barges in and immediately begins screaming:
: JUST WHAT IN THE BLUE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, HUH? Pause.
: You stuck me in a match with a complete and utter MONSTER. A vessel of destruction! A spawn of SATAN HIMSELF! So tell me, sir, WHY?! WHY did you book me in a debut match against an inhumane BEAST such as the VICIOUS CREATURE that I am meant to face at Showcase?! HUH?! RIDDLE ME THAT, YOU SON OF A BITCH! Silence. We remain focused on Terry, as he continues to make his point.
: Y'know, when I signed my contract to compete in the Kingdom, I expected just about anything. I knew the possibilities where just about endless, But now, on this day, I get released from jail for some made-up charge that I'm pretty sure doesn't exist, they called it "ASS-HALT" or something when all I ever did was whoop some ass on the mean streets of New York, I didn't do anything Patrick Swayze didn't do in the movie Roadhouse. But then, my BEST FRIEND CK "Rat Bastard" Owens picks me up from jail and he tells me you booked me in a match against THE BEAST INCARNATE! More silence. Terry waits for a response, but when there is none, he continues to wag his finger in the direction of what we can for now assume is the owner of KWF as if he is giving a harsh lecture of some sort.
: So HOW? HOW? HOW do you expect me to compete with MERYL STREEP?!? Once again, silence. The camera pans around the room for the first time, revealing that Terry is not in the office of any KWF authority. Rather, he is in a room that is completely vacant, and apparently, he is screaming at a CLOCK.
: AFTER WHAT SHE SAID ABOUT OUR PRESIDENT, DONALD TRUMP?!? You booked me in a match with a TRAITOR! A Mercenary! A renegade! You might as well have booked me to face ISIS! The clock, well, is a clock, so it doesn't reply, because it's not like, a human, or anything. It's just a clock. All it does is tick, and tell time. Visually, not verbally.
: YEAH, REAL FUNNY, ASSHOLE. I HEAR YOU MUMBLING UNDER YOUR BREATH. "TICK TICK TICK", I GET IT! Like....tick tock, time's up, time to face a traitor to this great country and its rightfully elected leader! If you and Meryl have no respect for good leadership, than why should I? Why, I outta deck you in the kisser, right now! The only thing that's stopping me from doing that is-Just then, Terry's cell phone begins to ring, he takes it out and looks at the touch screen, to see who is calling him.
: Hold on one second, I gotta take this. It's my best friend CK "Rat Bastard" Owens. Terry answers his phone, as he mouths the word "Sorry" to the clock, because he doesn't want to be rude. What proceeds is one half of a phone coversation; Bradshaw doesn't put CK "Rat Bastard" Owens on speakerphone, so we only hear his side of the exchange:
: Yeah, I'm busy, what? ....Yeah. ....Yeah. Oh, of course, that makes sen- WHAT?!?!?!? Hold on, hold on, say that again. ...Sooo then I'm not facing Meryl Streep. Well thank God for that. I don't know what I would have done to cripple that monster. ...Yeah she's quite a desolate and Satantic creature, I agree. Who am I facing? ...WHO? ...The FUCK is a Gold-borg? ...Sorry, I'm not following. ...Okay, yeah, I got the name. I get it. What's the concept behind the guy, what makes him tick? ...Yeah.........Yeah. Uh-huh. ....Uh-huh....Right, right. Okay. .... Yeah Listen, I've gotta say, not one bit of that makes any god damn sense to me in the slightest. Can you send me a picture of him, so I know what he looks like at least? ...Yeah, fine. Okay, I'm waiting. Hold on, I think I've got it. A notification beep comes from Terry's phone, as he looks down at the screen. He looks at the picture for a moment. It is a picture of Gold-Borg. Terry stares at it for disbelif, then gets back on the phone with his buddy CK "Rat Bastard" Owens.
: Uhhh... yeah.... I got it. NO THIS DOESN'T MAKE THINGS MUCH BETTER. I'VE GOTTA GO, MEET ME BEHIND THE DUMPSTER AT THAT DIVE BAR BEHIND YOUR TRAILER. YEAH..... YEAH, YOU CAN TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DRUNKEN ANTICS LATER. I'VE GOTTA GO. THANKS A LOT. Terry hangs up the phone, then pulls up the image of Gold-Borg on his cell phone screen, and shows it to the CLOCK. So the Clock can see what Terry thinks it booked him against at the upcoming Showcase event.
: WHAT...IN THE DAISY RIDLEY SCOTT.... IS THAT?The clock just continues to tick, not saying a word, because it's still just a clock and nothing more. Also, "Daisey Ridley Scott" is not a real phrase.
: ARE YOU INSANE? ARE YOU SOME KIND OF CRAZY PERSON? YOU BOOKED ME IN A MATCH AGAINST A HALF MAN, HALF WOLF, HALF GOLD ARMORED MONSTER? THATS THREE HALVES, IT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE!! I AM OUTRAGED. Terry spits on the floor to display his discontent. Wiping some saliva from his foaming mouth, he stares deep into the face of the clock, and continues to go on a rampage of epic proportions.
: I'm about to tell you what I think about Gold-Borg right now, but the only way I know how to do such a thing, is with something everyone knew me for well, from way back in the 70's. And no, it's not from playing in the NFL. It's for doing freestyle raps. Terry straightens his tie, and clears his throat.
: Check it, check it. KWF booked me in this whack-ass match
A match that's even whacker than my ex-wife's snatch (she had AIDS)
They're all like "Yo dawg, this is who you fight"
I saw the picture, could not believe the sight
Half man, half wolf, half gold, what's the deal?
Sad to see he'll be the first to know that Bradshaw's REAL
They call me Terry, magic like a fairy
Look into my eyes you'll see I'm really quite scary
Goldy Locks will see me and he'll know what's up
I'm like a wild tiger and he's just a furry little pup
Gold-Borg? More like Old-Borg! More like MOLD-BORG!
Cause boy you rotten like a bad apple!
I look at you and drink it in, I'm vodka, you're just Snapple!
I'm for ADULTS son, but you're really just for kids
I put your career for sale on Ebay, FREE and still got no bids!
Bradshaw is back and ain't nobody dance like me!
I dance on graves of enemies, you dance like you're on Glee!
Sick references bro, I got em by the dozens
You facin me at Showcace boy, but you gon' wish that you wasn't!
BRADSHAW OUT!
Terry finishes struggling through this painfully bad freestyle, then "drops" and invisible mic in front of the clock. Because why not? He's in the zone.
: SEE THAT? DO YOU SEE WHAT I CAN DO, YOU CROOKED S.O.B.? I AM NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH. The clock doesn't react. Again, we can't emphasize this enough, but it's just a clock.
: I...I....We think for a moment that Terry Bradshaw may be recognizing the error of his ways. But instead...
: I AM BEGINNING TO FEEL LIKE A RAP GOD, RAP GOD. ALL THE PEOPLE FROM THE FRONT TO THE BACK NOD, BACK NOD. Terry seems to be expecting some sort of reply from the clock, but like we've stated many times already, it's still just a clock. It's not gonna say anything.
: NOW WHO THINKS THEIR ARMS ARE LONG ENOUGH TO SLAP BOX, SLAP BOX. THEY SAID I RAP LIKE A ROBOT SO CALL ME RA-Suddenly, a deep and ominous voice bursts from the confines of this room.
: TERRY BRADSHAWWWWWW. : ....What? : TERRY BRADSHAWWW. HEAR MY WORDS, AND HEAR THEM WELL. YOU SUCK AT RAPPING. NEVER DO THAT AGAIN. ALSO, I AM NOT THE OWNER OF THE KWF. : ...Uh...You're not?: NO. I AM BUT A SIMPLE CLOCK. AN INSTRUMENT, A TOOL, CREATED FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF LETTING YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS.: Ohhh. "What time it is". I get it. Like you're telling me what's up with my wrestling career. : NO! I KNOW ALL AND SEE ALL, AND I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT WRESTLING. BESIDES YOU'RE LIKE 80, YOU HAVE NO BUISNESS BEING IN A WRESTLING RING. WHAT I MEAN IS, I TELL YOU, LITERALLY, WHAT TIME IT IS. YOU KNOW, LIKE ONE O'CLOCK. TWO O'CLOCK. THREE O'CLOCK. I'M THE CLOCK IN THAT PHRASE, YOU IDIOT. : Ohh, I didn't realize I was speaking to a CELEBRITY. You're the Miley Cyrus of things that actually matter, you know that? Nobody cares about time, we all are born and then later at some point we die. So what's your game? What kind of mind games are you playing with me right now? : I'M NOT SPEAKING IN BACKWARDS RIDDLES YOU SIMPLETON. I WAS CREATED SO YOU WOULD KNOW WHAT TIME OF DAY IT IS. YOU KNOW, NIGHT TIME, DAY TIME, MORNING. SHIT LIKE THAT. YOUR PROBLEM IS NOT WITH ME, NOR IS IT WITH THE POWERS THAT BE IN THE KWF, NO, NO, NO. YOUR ISSUES LIE WITH YOUR SCHEDUALED OPPONENT, AND HE ONLY. HE WHO GOES BY THE NAME OF GOLD-BORG. : That's....wait, what? : GOLD-BORG, YOU FUCKING IDIOT. YOU'RE SITTING HERE TALKING TO A CLOCK LIKE IT'S GOING TO DO YOU ANY GOOD. YOU NEED TO PREPARE FOR YOUR MATCH BY TRAINING, NOT BY SCREAMING AT AN INANIMATE FUCKING OBJECT. ARE YOU MENTALLY DISABLED OR SOMETHING? THE MATCH, YOU IDIOT, THE MATCH. FOCUS ON THAT. IT'S A WASTE OF ENERGY SPENDING YOUR TIME SCREAMING AT ME, A SIMPLE CLOCK. WAKE UP AND WISE UP. I CAN'T SAVE YOU, I CAN ONLY PROVIDE YOU WITH THE INFORMATION NEEDED TO SEE HOW MUCH TIME YOU HAVE UNTIL YOUR MATCH BEGINS. I AM SIMPLY AN AGENT OF TIME. GOLD-BORG MUST BE YOUR FOCUS. GOLD-BORG MUST BE THE OBJECT OF YOUR RAGE. GOLD-BORG MUS-: Okay, I get it, alright? Stop screaming at me, you sound like a crazy person. : I'M NOT THE ONE WHO'S TALKING TO A FUCKING CLOCK.: HEY, WATCH YOUR MOUTH, CLOCK. IF I DIDN'T KNOW ANY BETTER, I'D SAY YOU WERE IN CAHOOTS WITH AJ PHOENIX. : WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOU-: DON'T INTERRUPT ME. You know, for a clock, you're super rude, and I'm gonna let you know right now, I don't appreciate it. Just like I don't appreciate being booked in a match against some science fiction CREATURE from outer space. If this is what I think it is, then the aliens are no doubt on their way here to earth to invade, just like in that movie...: Independence Day? : No, the other one. : Alien?: No that's not it. : Predator? AlienS? Alien 3? Alien Resurrection? District 9? Prometheus? Alien: Covenant? Attack the Block? Mars Attacks? Which one? WHICH ONE? : NONE OF THOSE. Those don't sound right. I think it was called Paul Blart: Mall Cop. : Jesus fuckin Christ, alright. Alright. I see what this is. Clearly you can't be reasoned or negotiated with. You're not taking this seriously, are you? You are completely insane. : MAYBE. BUT THERE'S ONE THING YOU FORGOT, CLOCK. : And what would that be?Terry Bradshaw holds up an index finger, as if to say "one second". He pops out of the room, then comes back a moment later with what appears to be a large can of gasoline. He begins to dump it all over the room, as The Clock becomes uneasy.
: Wha- What is that? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?Terry lights a cigrarette, and begins to smoke it as he smiles at the clock.
: You may have won the battle of verbal jabs, brilliant clock. But you haven't won the war. You have shown me the light. You have shown me that I must not only face my fears, but that I must destroy them as well. Father Time has never been kind to me. You see my hair? It's been exactly like this since I was 11 FUCKING YEARS OLD. One day, I had a full head of thick, gorgeous, lustrous, wavy blonde hair. I woke up one day, and MOST OF IT WAS GONE and what was left was gray. Did I dye it? Did I get hair plugs? No sir, I accepted my fate. Just as Gold-Borg must accept his fate, when he FEELS THE LASH OF MY OPRESSIVE WHIP at Showcase, in the middle of the ring. JUST AS YOU, SIR CLOCK, WILL FEEL MY LASH. You wanna know what you forgot? : Yeah, I already asked you what I forgot, you desolate fool. Then you started rambling and going on and on about the "light" and your hair, and your stupid wrestling match. So what is it? What have I forgotton?Terry takes a long, satisfying drag from his cigarette, and blows the smoke directly into the face of the clock. The Clock isn't a smoker, so it coughs.
: You forgot... that some men just want to watch the world burn. : Wait....WAIT!The clock protests, as Terry exits the room. He opens the door that he kicked in earlier, and takes one last glance back at the clock.
: Goodnight, sweet prince. Terry flicks his cigarette into the room, setting the floor, walls, ceiling, and most tragically, The Clock itself, on fire. The Clock's screams and shreiks can be heard from miles away, as Terry puts on a pair of black sunglasses, and exits the room. Was the clock ever a real being with thoughts and feelings? Or did Terry simply walk into an empty room and have a full conversation with a normal clock? Was this all a hallucination? We can never be sure. All that we do know for sure, was that this was not XHF Headquarters. Nor was this KWF Headquarters. No, this was a hospital, and there were a lot of sick people in there who needed help. Terry doesn't know the difference, as he casually walks out of the burning building along with hundreds of screaming staff and patients alike. Terry has proven that he is ready to face Gold-Borg at Showcase.
: Gold-borg? More like... Gold-DORK. HA! That was a good one, I should have told that one to The Clock. Terry climbs into the back of a limousine and races away out of the parking lot as our scene fades out.
