Post by Furious Julius Fairweather on Sept 6, 2021 0:11:38 GMT -5
DISCLAIMER
The views expressed by Julius Fairweather do not reflect the opinions of Rock Johnson, Christian DeMarco, Indy Darling, or any member of the Project: Honor staff or roster. Due to the events that took place during this taping of The F Word, viewer discretion is strongly advised. The disturbing events that occurred during filming may be uncomfortable for some viewers.
Finally back from his mysterious absence is the middle-aged emcee fans have grown accustomed to seeing at the beginning of the show. Winston Winfield steps up to his microphone on the stage, not with a smile, but with a nervous expression he normally reserves for Julius’ exploding temper. Still, he begins to introduce us all to the show as only he can...
WINSTON WINFIELD: Ladies and gentlemen, it is once again time for your favorite Project: Honor exclusive...The F Word! Now, without further ado, please welcome the host of the show; He’s The Weatherman, The Shepherd of Lost Souls, The Gatekeeper of Fallout, and The Ice to Pyro’s Fire...The Bad Motherfucker himself… “Furious” Julius Fairweatherrrrrr!!!!!!!
The stage’s golden curtains are violently tossed aside as Julius makes his entrance with a wide smile upon his face. He makes his way toward his returning announcer, exchanging a complex series of fist bumps and hand slaps with the pencil-mustached emcee. He then motions for the camera to follow as he walks across the stage toward the desk and sofa, with Winston eventually taking his normal spot on the couch as Julius settles in behind his desk. Bambi and Candy are already at their stripper pole, giggling and gyrating as the host and co-host settle in.
JULIUS: What’s up, motherfuckers!?
AUDIENCE: What’s up, Julius!?
JULIUS: Hell to the motherfucking yes! With Collision Course and Night of Honor coming up right around the corner, we’ve got one hell of a motherfucking show for you tonight! But first...the world has got to know...where the fuck have you been, motherfucker?
Julius turns to face Winston, who immediately starts to tug at the collar of his shirt.
WINSTON: Well, I…
Almost immediately, Julius spins back to face the main camera.
JULIUS: I didn’t want to know that bad! Keep your dirty stories to yourself, old man! We’ve got too much going on to listen to you ramble on about hookers and blow! Speaking of which...let’s kick things off with another...
JULIUS: This week’s verse comes to us courtesy of a young man who only identified himself as The Saucy One. Let’s see what that little motherfucker had to say…
“Hip, Hip, Big Drip,
Have you any drugs?
No sir, no sir,
Young Sauce shrugs.
None for Lil’ Petey,
Who ate all the shrooms,
And none for poor TJ,
Locked in a kidnapper’s room.
That sucks said Petey,
Let me out of this room said TJ,
While Yung Sauce smiled,
‘Cause he traded their drugs for a BJ.”
"PS - Sorry guys. I'll pay you back"
JULIUS: Damn, son! No wonder you wouldn’t give us your real name! That vulgar shit may fly with the Edamame crowd, but it’s just a little too explicit for me! You sick freak!
Julius then turns to face the second camera as he attempts to shake off the amateur nursery rhyme.
JULIUS: Don’t go anywhere, motherfuckers, cause we’ll be right back with this week’s Fab Four after a word from our sponsors!
(Meanwhile, out of sight from the audience and the cameras, Cameron the cameraman paces nervously back and forth behind the stage. He’s well aware that tonight is the night that The Fairweather Revenge Squad, a trio of disgruntled former employees, will finally make their last move against Julius Fairweather. In exchange for giving them inside information and getting them backstage for The F Word, Cameron knows that he’ll have exclusive footage of the Bad Motherfucker’s downfall. Despite being assured that everything will go down as planned, the young aspiring videographer still finds himself on edge. If only he had some heroin…)
(Then, emerging from the shadows of the backstage area, is a man clad in camouflage from head to toe. With a decisive karate chop to the back of the neck, the man sends Cameron into an unconscious slumber. He then pulls a walkie-talking from his belt and begins to speak as he searches his fallen prey.)
HEMLOCK: Howling Mad Hemlock to the MF Team...the cameraman is down but he’s clean. If he was the one taking the shot, he’s out of the picture. You’re up next, Colonel...
**********
NARRATOR: Featuring the exclusive talents who debuted before last week’s Proving Ground with more mini marvels to come, Pocket-Sized Honor is the answer to your dark match blues! Witness the next evolution of dynamite action wrapped up in a travel-sized package!
**********
JULIUS: This was a strange week with a lot of motherfuckers refusing to wrestle for Larry KaChow on Proving Ground, but there were still some stand-outs that deserve our recognition! On the Fallout side of things, we had plenty to choose from; starting with this bad bitch…
JULIUS: Valkyrie may have had some starts and stops so far in her Project: Honor career, but this week she finally lived up to the potential that we all suspected she had. Slade Castle was fresh off winning The Ascension Championship two weeks prior and seemingly on a roll, but that didn’t stop Valkyrie from taking her shot and making the most of it! She captured the gold mere seconds before Slade was able to retain it, and she did it in convincing fashion! She looked like a one-woman team of Avengers in this motherfucking match, and poor Bianca McBride looked like a puny God in her wake! So for capturing her first gold in Project: Honor and looking strong going into her upcoming defenses, she’s just made my Fab Four! Congrats, motherfucker!
JULIUS: Next up we have a man representing the Proving Ground brand, and it’s because of that representation that he finds himself on my list this week! He may not have gotten the win against Mark Hunter, but he did manage to push the former Grand Champion to his limits! Not only that, but during a week when so many regular main eventers were off in preparation for Night of Honor, Brandon stepped up to fill the void they left behind! He wasn’t afraid of Larry KaChow’s booking, of facing Mark Hunter, or of giving everything he had in his first match near the top of the card! So far having the balls to break the glass ceiling and reach for the brass ring, you’ve just made my Fab Four! Congratulations, motherfucker!
JULIUS: Anyone familiar with my show will know that Jason Long ain’t no stranger to my Fab Four, or to the fact that I actually like the square-headed son of a bitch. Normally I try to reserve spots in my Fab Four for the up and comers or the motherfuckers who did something extra impressive to catch my eye. Well, competing in back-to-back main events and winning both of them is about as impressive as you can get. I don’t think anyone has ever had the kind of momentum that Jason Long has right now, and while Elena DeDraca may be his toughest challenge yet, this back-from-the-dead motherfucker may just have what it takes to knock the queen from her throne. So for headlining both shows in successful fashion, you’ve just made my Fab Four! Congrats, motherfucker!
The graphics fade from the screen and focus on Julius once again.
JULIUS: So there you have it, motherfuckers! That’s my Fab Four for this week, and if you don’t like it, take your asses to the ring and do something about it! For now, don’t you dare move, cause we’ll be right back with this week’s F Grade after some words from this very special sponsor!
(As Julius goes to commercial, an elderly Chinese man watches him from the rafters high above. The man known as Ras a’ Ling, Julius Fairweather’s former spiritual advisor, puffs on his long pipe as he surveys everything transpiring below him. He knows that soon, Julius will pay for recognizing him as a fraud and kicking him out of his luxurious home in suburban Detroit.)
(Just then, a white-haired man comes swinging onto the catwalk, landing beside Ras with a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. The man hits Ras with a hard right cross, instantly knocking him unconscious. He then pulls a walkie talkie from his belt as he searches the robes of the elderly Chinese man.)
CANNABIS SMITH: Smith to the MF Team...I’ve taken out the old Chinese guy. He was in the rafters with a clear shot at the target, but I don’t have eyes on a weapon. No sniper rifle...no grenades...this guy is boring as shit. Looks like the assassin is still in play. The ball’s in your court now, B.W...
**********
**********
JULIUS: That’s right, motherfuckers. It’s time for this week’s F Grade, where I pick at least one underachieving son of a bitch to ridicule in a public forum. So who’s this week’s lucky motherfucker? How about this fat fuck…
JULIUS: With Larry KaChow booking last week’s Proving Ground, it was an opportunity for motherfuckers like Brandon Hendrix and those Jagerbomb guys to step up and show everyone what they’ve got. Now you would think that a motherfucker with one of the company’s worst win/loss records would take advantage of that opportunity. Now I could pick on Rapture, Guy, or El Puma, but at least those motherfuckers know when they’re outmatched and they keep their mouths shut appropriately. But Serrano? He’s out there trash talking on Twitter and in his promos as if he actually thinks he’s got a chance in hell of winning.
JULIUS: To be fair, maybe he should have had a shot this week considering his opponent was an unknown commodity inside of the wrestling ring, but instead of taking shit seriously and giving Mason Kane the respect he deserved, this fat motherfucker tried to turn everything into a joke. Now I don’t like Mason Kane much either, but at least I’m smart enough to know that if he’s a hired gun, he probably knows how to kick some ass. Clearly Serrano didn’t come to that realization, because not only did he get destroyed, but his momma and daddy got destroyed alongside him. By the time Mason Kane and Lance Williams were done, it looked like Peter Pepper picked a peck of pickled peppers and then tap danced all over those motherfuckers!
JULIUS: I realize that some motherfuckers just aren’t cut out to be at the top of the card. We need guys like Serrano and Rapture when we’re starting out, so we can go out there and show the world what we have to offer. None of us really expect Guy to win his next match, least of all Guy himself. As for Serrano, he talks like a contender, cooks like a wizard, and gets knocked on his ass like a legless man playing ice hockey. If only he could put the frying pans aside, check his ego at the door, and take shit more seriously...he might just be a contender.
Julius stares at the camera with a serious expression plastered on his face. Then, after a few moments, he bursts out in laughter.
JULIUS: Nah. You ain’t ever gonna be a contender motherfucker. Not in Project: Honor. I know they used to say the same shit about Lil’ Petey, but at least that motherfucker has charisma. So know your role, shut your mouth, and take your losses like a man, Serrano. Even a homemade red pepper mask ain’t gonna get your ass over.
As Serrano’s chubby face fades from the screen, Julius turns to face the second camera.
JULIUS: Now don’t go anywhere, cause we’ll be right back with this week’s F Bomb!
(Thaddeus Hieronymus Craft had not only been Julius’ next door neighbor, but he was also desperate to join the Bad Motherfucker’s inner circle. When his creepy advances were shot down, THC joined The Fairweather Revenge Squad to show Julius the error of his ways. Now standing at the back of the live studio audience, he waits to witness Julius’ epic fall from grace.)
(That’s when a black man in a dirty white tank top charges at him, leveling the near-harmless THC with a headbutt to the face. As Thaddeus lays motionless, Julius’ long-lost father searches him for weapons. Finding nothing, he pulls the walkie talkie from his belt.)
B.W. EUSTACE CARTER: “Bong Water” Eustace to The MF Team...the skinny little fool is down. I almost pity him. He doesn’t even have a gun on him. That means we need to find the midget. You got eyes on him, Space Man?
(Somewhere backstage, the aging con-man named “Space Man” Simpleton Prick is engaged in carnal relations with a female producer on Julius’ staff. In such a vulnerable state, he refuses to answer his walkie talkie...leaving the fate of Julius Fairweather up in the air…)
**********
**********
JULIUS: This week the letter F stand for…
??: Fuck you, Julius!
An unidentified man emerges from the audience in a long trench coat and wide-brimmed hat. As Julius stares in confusion and the audience begins to question what is going on, the man tosses his hat and coat aside, revealing himself as Nigel Half-Weather. Before security or anyone else can intervene, Nigel produces a handgun and points it threateningly in Julius’ direction.
NIGEL: No more games, motherfucker. Now you’re finally gonna get what you’ve had coming for a long time…
Julius looks around for a few seconds, still confused by what’s transpiring. Finally, he shoots Nigel a bug-eyed glare as he responds.
JULIUS: What the motherfucking fuck do you think you’re doing, motherfucker?
The vertically challenged man sneers back at Julius, the gun still pointed directly at him.
NIGEL: Revealing your real daddy to the world...running attack ads during your own show...trying to run you down in Australia...it’s all led to this. Time for revenge, motherfucker.
Despite Nigel’s admittance to the recent troubles that Julius had been blaming on James Edgebrook, The Bad Motherfucker continues to stare down the man who briefly served as his sidekick.
JULIUS: Revenge for what? Just because I fired your ass? Motherfucker, that’s the weakest shit I’ve ever heard of! I fire motherfuckers all the damn time! Hell, I’ve fired Winston over a dozen times but he still keeps showing up! It’s called a test of loyalty, motherfucker!
Nigel takes a few steps forward, his gun still aimed at Julius’ chest.
NIGEL: That ain’t it at all. I may have convinced Ras and THC to go along with my plans because we were all fired alongside each other, but it goes back further than that. I ain’t doing this shit for me...I’m doing it for my sister! For the woman that took the fall when you poisoned that old motherfucker to weasel your way into the wrestling business! I’m gonna pop a cap in your ass on behalf of your ex-girlfriend who’s rotting away in prison. This is for Malaysia, motherfucker!
Julius pauses a moment, thinking back several months when he promised Indy Darling he’d turn a new leaf and make up for his mistakes. He thinks about his heartless bitch of an ex, and how he wore a wire as she confessed to the attempted murder of Doc Miyagi. He thinks about all of this, and cannot help but laugh.
JULIUS: Ha ha! I didn’t even know that bitch had a brother! Now you’re gonna spend the rest of your life in prison for that soul-sucking black hole with fake titties? Well then...take your best shot, motherfucker…
From that moment on, it’s as if everything starts to move forward in slow-motion. Nigel squints as he takes aim at his target, his trigger finger beginning to squeeze...Julius looks back at him in motherfuckerly fashion...and Winston scans the studio in the hope that his team of hired mercenaries will be able to act. The only one he sees is Julius’ estranged father, Eustace Carter, as he pushes his way through the members of the studio audience. In that split second, Winston realizes that Eustace will never reach Nigel in time…
BANG!
JULIUS: Motherfucker, what in the blue hell was that? I don’t pay you enough to take no motherfucking bullets on my behalf!
Severely weakened and losing a lot of blood, Winston looks up at his employer as a slight smile forms underneath his pencil-moustache.
WINSTON: It’s okay, boss. This was never going to work unless you had something to…
Before he can finish his sentence, Winston’s eyes fall shut and his last breath passes from his lips. Julius continues to stare at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. When he finally realizes that it will never come, he desperately starts to shake Winston’s lifeless body.
JULIUS: Something to what? I asked you a question, motherfucker! Answer me!
But that answer never comes. Julius lowers his head over his fallen friend, and with The Fairweather Revenge Squad in custody and Winston Winfield having made the ultimate sacrifice, the F Word comes to a sudden and unannounced conclusion.
