Post by levy on May 18, 2022 10:16:50 GMT -5
Fireside Chat #1:
...And Justice For Me
...And Justice For Me
A disclaimer fills the screen, white text on a dark background.
DISCLAIMER: The opinions, beliefs and statements of Johnny Levy are not shared by anyone involved in the production of this promo.
His handler cannot be held personally responsible, due to the transitory and illusory nature of the written word in an RP-only setting.
Anyone who is easily upset should go read something less offensive; perhaps the latest episode of Fallout.
#BabyFace #HeelWithIt #Uncancellable
**********
The scene opens up to a close-up of a fireplace, with flames licking over firewood sloppily piled way too high; that lazy piece of shit bodyguard/valet/french maid/stunt double/criminally overpaid goon Barlon Mando is probably to blame.
The crackling of the fire provides an interesting counterpoint to the strains of ‘Frolic’ by Luciano Michelini, creating a soothing, comfy atmosphere...
...an atmosphere that is soon completely fucking shattered when the camera pulls back to reveal our favourite Jewish superhero and crusader against whatever Indy Darling did wrong this month (too many things to list, please contact Levy’s handler for the full details of Indy’s crimes against human decency and good booking): Johnny ‘Goyim Slayer’ Levy.
Except he looks different.
No, not a PB change, because we don’t do that around these parts.
Nothing so drastic as all that.
Nah, he’s just sitting in a wheelchair with a blanket - the fabric adorned with eagles, stars and muskets - draped over his legs and feet.
Hanging above the fireplace is a massive American flag, so large that the bottom edge of it comes dangerously close to touching the flames roaring out of the fireplace. Surely this won’t present a problem later in the promo.
Or will it?
“Good evening, my fellow Americans. I’m here today to speak directly to every God-fearing, good-hearted, hard-working citizen of this great nation. As the Greatest American Who Has Ever Lived, I feel I am in a unique position to discuss a matter of national importance.”
Clearing his throat, Levy reaches under the blanket to pull out a sheet of paper which he then lays on his lap, followed by a bagel covered in cream cheese that he proceeds to stuff into his mouth in its entirety, unhinging his jaw as a snake might and swallowing it without a single chew.
That done, he wipes his hands on the blanket and picks the paper up, narrowing his eyes as he attempts to read it in the relatively dim light of the room, illuminated only by the roaring fire behind him.
“Of course, I am speaking about my new demands.”
Clearing his throat, he begins to list them in a rushed voice, since he really doesn’t have a lot of time to screw around with this nonsense today; he’s just trying to get this done so resources can be shifted to more important things, like assisting the current Legacy Champion in her own promo.
“Alright first off: a Buried Alive match against Indy ‘Heinrich’ Darling at the next Project: Honor Pay-Per-View, which I have been informed is dubbed ‘Hell on Earth III’... a fitting name, since that motherfucker is literally Satan, and three is the amount of times I’m going to beat his goddamn ass before I’m even approaching satisfied with it.”
“Second... okay, listen, I know Brandon Hendrix and I have had our disagreements. I may have hit him with a shovel a few times, I don’t really recall; I kind of blanked out during that, since I was way more invested in Billy’s match in the main event. Anyway, maybe I said some shit about burials too. I was young, misguided, and I really thought Hendrix was another one of Indy’s hired goons, like those two STATUS QUO thugs that I hired to make Indy look ba-...”
He pauses suddenly, eyes wide as he realizes he is once again exposing the goddamn business.
“Never mind all that. Mistakes were made, but now I see the truth: that Brandon Hendrix is a victim of management bias, just as I was and continue to be. So, with that in mind, and in a show of solidarity for the Don - or whatever his nickname is - I am hereby demanding that Brandon’s official record in Project: Honor be reset to 1-0 after his victory over Anya Lev-...”
His eyes widen even further, larger than should be humanly possible as he reads off the paper.
Anya LEVY?
The fuck is this shit? Who approved this? Because I sure as hell didn’t.
Silly and disrespectful, really.
“Okay, this is fucked up. We got fake Levys running around now? Moving on to the third demand, then...”
He pulls a pen out from underneath his blanket and begins scribbling frantically on the paper, clearly writing a new demand between the pre-existing second and third ones listed on the script.
“Third demand: the public execution of Anya Levy for forgery, fraud, and identity theft. Preferably by firing squad, carried out by Giovanni and I. Alternatively, I will accept the following: hanging, lethal injection, electrocution, eating food from a Wuhan wet market, or death by STD after sleeping with Savannah Andrews.”
“Fourth demand: a match against Indy Darling prior to the PPV, at the yearly Gladiator Games. I’m thinking that we should make it a dog collar match, since he’s such a goddamn BITCH.”
There’s some canned ‘OHHHH DAYYYUUUUUUMMMMMMM LEVY NO YOU DIDNNNNN’T’ sound effects. If you’ve ever seen Jerry Springer or Maury, you probably know what I’m talking about.
Before he can continue, there’s a whisper from one of his assistants that cannot be heard over the music and crackling fire, but whatever it was seems to upset Levy something fierce.
“Oh wow, what a surprise. First Indy’s hand-picked racist ethno-nationalist Japanese champion is unseated by Based God Swengle SwimShake, th-...”
Before he can continue, a voice comes down from on-high. It certainly doesn’t sound like Levy’s usual manager (who I have not used in a promo for months and do not recall the name of) or any of his assorted off-screen helpers.
No, this voice encompasses the entire room from its source in the heavens.
It is the voice of something that is even greater than a God to an imaginary internet wrestler.
It is the voice of the Holy Handler.
“Bruh, his name is Swindle Shelldrake, not Swengle SwimShake, or Pringles Bellface, or even Shingles Pantsmace; and anyway, we already did this whole ‘get his name wrong’ gimmick for that singles match back at 'Undisputed Regicide' or 'Unbelievable Bad Booking' or whatever that fucking PPV was called. I mean, I remember because I wrote all that trash... and I had you say it, so you should too.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily, Levy nods slowly as he contemplates when and where everything had gone so wrong; he’s so fucking stressed fighting Indy’s non-stop racist attacks against his person that he’s now hallucinating the voice of some questionably-sane, drug-enthusiast German/Jewish writer who claims to control everything he says or does.
How could that even be possible?
How indeed.
The voice rings out one last time as Levy is busy contemplating what his life has become, and possibly checking into some kind of treatment program for what is - in all likelihood - his undiagnosed mental illness.
But no. He will not. For it is the rest of the world that is crazy, not him.
“Anyway, I’ma head out. You got it from here, right? Just ad lib or something, I’m gonna go make a coffee and have a smoke.”
Levy doesn’t respond, shutting his eyes tight as he tries to force the voices - or voice, singular - out of his head. There are the sounds of footsteps receding in the distance that echo throughout the entire room, coming from both everywhere and nowhere at once.
Once they’re gone, Levy cautiously opens his eyes, and after a moment spent composing himself and second-guessing his own mental state, he continues.
“Well, it would seem that Indy Darling is once again proving that he is a bitch-made coward; for even without his position as General Manager of Proving Ground - RIP Racism, by the way - he is still ducking my challenge.”
“In fact, he has replaced his Japanese Imperialist stooge - who is probably destined to dwell in the midcard forever now - with an Italian. Bad move, Indy, you remember how badly they dropped the ball in the War, right? Couldn’t even successfully invade Ethiopia, that’s the most savage L I’ve ever heard of in all history.”
“Anyway, Gianna Fortuna; you’ve made the worst mistake of your entire life by accepting Darling’s poison apple. I don’t know what he’s offered you, but throwing in your lot with that man will only bring you pain.”
“Plus I bet you’re not even Italian. You see my buddy Giovanni? That’s what an Italian looks like. Belted up, sexy as fuck, six pack, beautiful skin. You look more like some kind of Romani child bride, to be honest. But uh...”
He rummages around under his blanket again, eventually pulling out a stack of papers that is so large he can barely get his hand around it.
“Unfortunately for you, I’ve got a lot of material pre-written here, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to cope with starting your career here on a loss. Let me get started...”
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Levy, the bottom edge of his ridiculously oversized American flag has caught fire; the flames rapidly spreading over the synthetic made-in-China material as the crew filming begin to scream and run.
“Guys, shut the fuck up!” he screams at them, visibly sweating as the fire spreads behind him, raising the ambient temperature by several degrees.
“Man, is it hot in here or…?”
Glancing behind him by chance, he notices the inferno building only feet away. There’s silence for several moments as he sits in the wheelchair staring at it.
Eventually, he sighs and stands up out of the wheelchair, knocking the blanket - and the basket of bagels hiding underneath it - onto the floor in front of him. He leans into the camera and whispers.
“We’ll be right back.”
We will not be right back.
**********
A JOHNNY LEVY PRODUCTION
DIRECTED BY
JOHNNY LEVY
CINEMATOGRAPHY BY
JOHNNY LEVY
EXECUTIVE PRODUCER
JOHNNY LEVY
WRITTEN & EDITED BY
JOHNNY LEVY
STARRING
JOHNNY LEVY
TRADEMARKS AND COPYRIGHTS HELD BY
JOHNNY LEVY