Post by Furious Julius Fairweather on Aug 10, 2021 18:54:07 GMT -5
Winston Winfield had made a point of avoiding his friend and employer since their time together in Perth, Australia. While Julius was determined to lay the blame for his recent troubles on his old rival, James Edgebrook, Winston was not convinced. Attempting to reason with The Bad Motherfucker had gotten him nowhere, and fearful that the mysterious Fairweather Revenge Squad were planning something even more devious than a hit and run, Winston decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. He would join Julius in Japan eventually, blaming his absence on a week-long bender that led him through the back alleys of Osaka. It would be enough to convince Julius, as disappearing to drink mass quantities of alcohol and shack up with women of ill-repute was a common occurrence for the middle-aged emcee. After all, it was in such a state that Julius first found Winston before pulling him out of the gutter and turning him into a semi-respectable gentleman.
“The seed of the idea for the Julius Fairweather character had only begun to sprout at that time, and Luther Franklin, the failed athlete and street hustler who would become Julius, knew that he needed to surround the character with as much flair as possible. The afro, clothes, and abrasive language would not be enough. Julius would need an entourage of unique individuals who were so invested in the character that the audience would have no choice but to believe in him whole-heartedly.”
Winston allowed himself a brief pause as he told his story, offering one member of his audience a light from his silver Zippo. As the man puffed on his freshly lit cigar, the middle-aged emcee continued to relay his origin.
“Among those supporting players, Luther envisioned having a right-hand man, a proper English gentleman who would add class and balance to the presentation. That’s when he found me, sleeping in a cardboard box in some Detroit alleyway, blitzed out of my mind on the cheapest booze I could find. He looked past the filth and stupor that I was drowning in. He didn’t care that I had lost everything in the stock market, that my wife had left me for Joey Fatone of NSYNC, or that I had been defecating in the same place where I slept. Somewhere in that beautiful brain of his, he was able to see me with a haircut and a shave, clothed in the finest men’s fashion, and holding a microphone. He didn’t see Wayne Fielding the homeless drunk; he saw Winston Winfield the professional announcer and ring attendant.”
Winston smiled and nodded, nearly lost in his own recollections of those early days.
“Everything I have, I owe to Julius Fairweather. He saved my life. That’s why I need you to save his.”
Miles away from Winston’s clandestine meeting, Julius was exploring the streets of Osaka, taking full advantage of Project: Honor’s world tour to experience foreign cultures that would have seemed unreachable just a year prior. Alongside him was Cameron, his personal videographer and, unbeknownst to Julius, a spy for The Fairweather Revenge Squad. With a bright smile on his face, Julius straightened his suit jacket as Cameron followed close behind, a look of exhausted satisfaction overcoming him.
“They don’t have happy endings like that back in the states, motherfucker! I ain’t ever going back to Madam Quan’s Massage Parlor in Detroit after that shit!”
“I….uh…”
Cameron struggled to find the words after his recent experience, but Julius did not have such difficulties.
“Just be glad they gave us separate rooms. When me and Winston visited a place like this in Brazil, it was a communal bath house situation. I bet that old motherfucker still has feelings of inadequacy!”
“She...touched my…”
“I don’t need no motherfucking play-by-play! Keep that shit to yourself!”
“So...tingly…”
Cameron’s euphoric state forced Julius to stop in his tracks and shoot the cameraman a bug-eyed glare.
“I done told you, motherfucker! What happens in the Oriental spa stays in the Oriental spa! Now let's find some sushi and sake! No...better yet...get that motherfucking camera rolling! Now that my body’s been cleansed of those primal demons, it’s time to clear my mind of those motherfuckers I'll be facing at Fallout!”
With trembling hands, Cameron raised his camera into position and began recording.
AIRED PROMO
“Havoc, Mason Destruction, and Syndicate; seems like we’ve got ourselves a little situation on our hands. It ain’t enough that Crazy Christian’s traveling sideshow is rolling into Japan for the first time. Hell no, that motherfucker’s got to wrap everything up in barbed wire while four of his best go to war with each other. Stop looking over your shoulders, cause when I say four of the best, I’m actually putting you motherfuckers on my level. It ain’t no swerve, cause I actually do consider you to be three of the best on our brand other than yours truly. Then again, it’s well-known that I don’t keep the best of company. In fact, looking at the three of you, maybe it’s time I raised my motherfucking standards.”
Julius gives the camera a playfully sly grin.
“Take Havoc for example; there’s no doubt he’s a bad motherfucker. I remember when he was a fresh face around this place, back when a bunch of us were fighting to have our faces on a box of cookies. By now, we all know that my boy, Jason Long, won that motherfucker, and on the last Fallout we saw how much he’s been enjoying those raspberry snacks when he was leaking red goo all over the motherfucking floor. Only I ain’t bringing this up to praise our fallen brother-in-arms. I’m revisiting that match because Havoc was a motherfucking monster on that night. He was so impressive that motherfuckers were saying, ‘Only Havoc can eliminate Havoc’. Jump ahead a few shows, and now those same motherfuckers are saying ‘Julius Fairweather has pulled the wool over Havoc’s eyes one more time’. That’s because I’ve got two wins over you now, motherfucker, and I’m still hungry for more.”
“You can blame my win in the handicap match on Pyro’s newfound respect for me if you want. It’s probably easier to blame your partner for that loss than to admit that there might be a motherfucker out there who’s tougher than you. You can even blame my win in Dead by Daylight on those fucked up rules we had to follow or claim that I stole your victory by getting out of that crazy battlefield before you did. There might even be some truth to those excuses. I know I haven’t put your shoulders on the mat in a one-on-one contest, but guess what? I ain’t gonna do it this week either cause there’s four of us in this motherfucker match! On the bright side, you’ll be able to blame this one on Mason or Syndicate if you feel the need.”
“Truth be told, I know your ass is probably gunning for me, Havoc. You want that sweet taste of revenge against everyone’s favorite motherfucker. You know what I want? I want to knock your head off your shoulders so decisively that the only excuse you’ll have to give is that you're my bitch. That’s right. I said it. Julius Fairweather is gonna make that psycho monster his personal bitch in Barbed Wire Heaven. I might lock your ass in The Bonnie Situation or show you why I’m The Foot Fuckin’ Master. Hell, I might hit you with so many Royales with Cheese that you’ll be saying, ‘please sir, may I have another’. By the time it’s done, I might just have to add another alias to my growing list of nicknames. Only Havoc can eliminate Havoc? Then get ready for some confusion, cause that’s what they’ll be calling me when I put your ass down for the count.”
Julius looks away from the camera, taking a moment to ponder another of his upcoming opponents before revealing what’s on his mind.
“Then we’ve got a guy like Mason Destruction, who unlike Havoc, I actually kind of like. This guy has fought his way up from backyard wrestling to the bright lights of Project: Honor, even earning himself a taste of gold along the way. That’s something even I can’t claim just yet, as my run with a gold championship remains just out of reach. Of course, I am the number one contender for The Ascension Title at the moment, the same belt that Mason has been fighting over with Leslie Adora. So when I get my shot and stomp the motherfucking light out of Leslie, I can hold my head high knowing that I’ve got a championship that was held by a tough bastard like Mason Destruction. Unfortunately, that means Mason will never get his hands on the motherfucker again, cause once I win it, I ain’t gonna lose it like he did.”
“That ain’t nothing personal, Mason. When I become the greatest Ascension Champion in history, it won’t make your accomplishment mean anything less. It will just mean that on the scale of bad motherfuckers, you’re not quite up to par. Don’t cry about it, Backyardigan, cause not many are. On the bright side of things, DeMarco has given you the opportunity to get familiar with disappointment, ‘cause you’re scheduled to get your ass beat right alongside Havoc in Barbed Wire Heaven. Just like that weird motherfucker, I don’t expect it to be easy. Like I said, you’re a tough bastard and I know I’m in for a fight. Granted, it’s a fight I plan on winning, even if some motherfuckers around this place are trying to stack the odds against me.”
“Even Stevie motherfucking Wonder could see that the rules of this match might favor guys like Mason or Havoc, considering there’s gonna be barbed wire on chairs, barbed wire on tables, barbed wire on the fans, and barbed wire up the referee’s ass. That’s the kind of backyard bullshit that Mason Destruction feels at home with. I simply can’t relate to that, cause my backyard has a jacuzzi and a putting green. Despite those odds against me and the fact that I somewhat, kinda sorta, respect a guy like Mason Destruction, you’re still looking at the winner of Fallout’s upcoming main event.”
Julius turns his face back towards the camera, his expression brimming with confidence.
“Maybe you’re new around here like that motherfucker named Syndicate, and you’re in need of a proper introduction. My name is “Furious” Julius Fairweather, the Gatekeeper of Fallout, the Shepherd of the Weak, the Tyranny of Evil Men, and the bad motherfucker who’s gonna kick all kinds of barbed wire covered ass with his barbed wire covered boots. There’s a reason I’m on a winning streak right now, and that’s because I always find a way to turn chicken shit into chicken salad. I don’t let my personal opinions or relationships get in my motherfucking way. I don’t let fractures, fire, or friendships slow me down. I find a way to win no matter what it takes, even if that means wrapping three other motherfuckers in barbed wire, stacking them on top of each other, and pinning them all at the same time.”
“Now that introduction may seem a little hardcore, and for a guy like Syndicate who’s only been here for a couple of months, it may just make him second guess his motherfucking career path. So if he shows up selling concessions this week instead of stepping up to the plate against a motherfucker like myself, all I can say is, ‘my bad’. By all means, Syndi, don’t give up on your dreams too easily, cause I promise you won’t have to fight me every week. Even if you do, I can only assume that you’ll get used to losing. Just like Mason and Havoc, you’ll get a little taste of what that’s like later this week. My guess? It’s gonna taste a lot like blood-stained barbed wire.”
Julius takes his attention off the camera as he continues, manipulating something in his hands that he has not yet revealed to the camera.
“So yeah, we’ve got ourselves a barbed wire wrapped situation, don’t we? Whether you’ve lost to me before or you’re fixing to make a career out of coming in second place, there’s about to be a few motherfuckers soaking in that sweet agony of defeat. That’s because I’ve also got the barbed wire wrapped solution.”
Julius holds up both fists in front of the camera, revealing his FJF and BMF brass knuckles wrapped in barbed wire.
“Yeah, I do consider you to be three of the best around here, but that’s where the similarities between the four of us come to an end. Havoc...Mason Destruction...Syndicate...none of you are as good as this pair right here. The streak I’m on ain’t about to stop until I’ve got a taste of that gold we all crave. Beating your asses in Barbed Wire Heaven is gonna raise my standing in the Elite Seven and get me one step closer to achieving that goal. When it comes to accepting that motherfucking reality, the three of you have two choices; you can be cool, or you can be gone.”
With his promo complete, Julius would send Cameron on his way back to the hotel in order to continue exploring all that Osaka had to offer. While this would free Julius up to follow his own path, it also gave Cameron the opportunity to report to his employers in The Fairweather Revenge Squad. Meanwhile, Winston was concluding his own business in rural Mississippi. Having told them of their shared history and the recent hit-and-run attempt, the four men gathered around Winston not only understood why their services were needed, but also how much the safety of Julius Fairweather meant to the middle-aged emcee. Winston, however, did not understand everything about the four aging mercenaries.
“I can’t help but wonder, Mr. Smith...why the disguise?”
The leader of the mercenary group bit down on his cigar as he removed his cheap wig and moustache.
“We had to make sure you are who you said you were. We may have been out of action for a while, but the military police could still be on our trail. Still, I think we might just be the solution to your problems.”
“I see. So does this mean you’ll take the job?”
The elderly Viet Nam vet smiled as he pulled the cigar from his mouth and nodded at Winston.
“Congratulations, Mr. Winfield. You’ve just hired our Mother Fucking Team.”
WHO ARE THE MF TEAM? WHAT IS THE FAIRWEATHER REVENGE SQUAD’S NEXT MOVE? HOW MANY F-BOMBS CAN JULIUS DROP BEFORE NIGHT OF HONOR? FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON THE FAIRWEATHER SAGA...SAME MOTHERFUCKING TIME, SAME MOTHERFUCKING CHANNEL!
“The seed of the idea for the Julius Fairweather character had only begun to sprout at that time, and Luther Franklin, the failed athlete and street hustler who would become Julius, knew that he needed to surround the character with as much flair as possible. The afro, clothes, and abrasive language would not be enough. Julius would need an entourage of unique individuals who were so invested in the character that the audience would have no choice but to believe in him whole-heartedly.”
Winston allowed himself a brief pause as he told his story, offering one member of his audience a light from his silver Zippo. As the man puffed on his freshly lit cigar, the middle-aged emcee continued to relay his origin.
“Among those supporting players, Luther envisioned having a right-hand man, a proper English gentleman who would add class and balance to the presentation. That’s when he found me, sleeping in a cardboard box in some Detroit alleyway, blitzed out of my mind on the cheapest booze I could find. He looked past the filth and stupor that I was drowning in. He didn’t care that I had lost everything in the stock market, that my wife had left me for Joey Fatone of NSYNC, or that I had been defecating in the same place where I slept. Somewhere in that beautiful brain of his, he was able to see me with a haircut and a shave, clothed in the finest men’s fashion, and holding a microphone. He didn’t see Wayne Fielding the homeless drunk; he saw Winston Winfield the professional announcer and ring attendant.”
Winston smiled and nodded, nearly lost in his own recollections of those early days.
“Everything I have, I owe to Julius Fairweather. He saved my life. That’s why I need you to save his.”
Miles away from Winston’s clandestine meeting, Julius was exploring the streets of Osaka, taking full advantage of Project: Honor’s world tour to experience foreign cultures that would have seemed unreachable just a year prior. Alongside him was Cameron, his personal videographer and, unbeknownst to Julius, a spy for The Fairweather Revenge Squad. With a bright smile on his face, Julius straightened his suit jacket as Cameron followed close behind, a look of exhausted satisfaction overcoming him.
“They don’t have happy endings like that back in the states, motherfucker! I ain’t ever going back to Madam Quan’s Massage Parlor in Detroit after that shit!”
“I….uh…”
Cameron struggled to find the words after his recent experience, but Julius did not have such difficulties.
“Just be glad they gave us separate rooms. When me and Winston visited a place like this in Brazil, it was a communal bath house situation. I bet that old motherfucker still has feelings of inadequacy!”
“She...touched my…”
“I don’t need no motherfucking play-by-play! Keep that shit to yourself!”
“So...tingly…”
Cameron’s euphoric state forced Julius to stop in his tracks and shoot the cameraman a bug-eyed glare.
“I done told you, motherfucker! What happens in the Oriental spa stays in the Oriental spa! Now let's find some sushi and sake! No...better yet...get that motherfucking camera rolling! Now that my body’s been cleansed of those primal demons, it’s time to clear my mind of those motherfuckers I'll be facing at Fallout!”
With trembling hands, Cameron raised his camera into position and began recording.
AIRED PROMO
“Havoc, Mason Destruction, and Syndicate; seems like we’ve got ourselves a little situation on our hands. It ain’t enough that Crazy Christian’s traveling sideshow is rolling into Japan for the first time. Hell no, that motherfucker’s got to wrap everything up in barbed wire while four of his best go to war with each other. Stop looking over your shoulders, cause when I say four of the best, I’m actually putting you motherfuckers on my level. It ain’t no swerve, cause I actually do consider you to be three of the best on our brand other than yours truly. Then again, it’s well-known that I don’t keep the best of company. In fact, looking at the three of you, maybe it’s time I raised my motherfucking standards.”
Julius gives the camera a playfully sly grin.
“Take Havoc for example; there’s no doubt he’s a bad motherfucker. I remember when he was a fresh face around this place, back when a bunch of us were fighting to have our faces on a box of cookies. By now, we all know that my boy, Jason Long, won that motherfucker, and on the last Fallout we saw how much he’s been enjoying those raspberry snacks when he was leaking red goo all over the motherfucking floor. Only I ain’t bringing this up to praise our fallen brother-in-arms. I’m revisiting that match because Havoc was a motherfucking monster on that night. He was so impressive that motherfuckers were saying, ‘Only Havoc can eliminate Havoc’. Jump ahead a few shows, and now those same motherfuckers are saying ‘Julius Fairweather has pulled the wool over Havoc’s eyes one more time’. That’s because I’ve got two wins over you now, motherfucker, and I’m still hungry for more.”
“You can blame my win in the handicap match on Pyro’s newfound respect for me if you want. It’s probably easier to blame your partner for that loss than to admit that there might be a motherfucker out there who’s tougher than you. You can even blame my win in Dead by Daylight on those fucked up rules we had to follow or claim that I stole your victory by getting out of that crazy battlefield before you did. There might even be some truth to those excuses. I know I haven’t put your shoulders on the mat in a one-on-one contest, but guess what? I ain’t gonna do it this week either cause there’s four of us in this motherfucker match! On the bright side, you’ll be able to blame this one on Mason or Syndicate if you feel the need.”
“Truth be told, I know your ass is probably gunning for me, Havoc. You want that sweet taste of revenge against everyone’s favorite motherfucker. You know what I want? I want to knock your head off your shoulders so decisively that the only excuse you’ll have to give is that you're my bitch. That’s right. I said it. Julius Fairweather is gonna make that psycho monster his personal bitch in Barbed Wire Heaven. I might lock your ass in The Bonnie Situation or show you why I’m The Foot Fuckin’ Master. Hell, I might hit you with so many Royales with Cheese that you’ll be saying, ‘please sir, may I have another’. By the time it’s done, I might just have to add another alias to my growing list of nicknames. Only Havoc can eliminate Havoc? Then get ready for some confusion, cause that’s what they’ll be calling me when I put your ass down for the count.”
Julius looks away from the camera, taking a moment to ponder another of his upcoming opponents before revealing what’s on his mind.
“Then we’ve got a guy like Mason Destruction, who unlike Havoc, I actually kind of like. This guy has fought his way up from backyard wrestling to the bright lights of Project: Honor, even earning himself a taste of gold along the way. That’s something even I can’t claim just yet, as my run with a gold championship remains just out of reach. Of course, I am the number one contender for The Ascension Title at the moment, the same belt that Mason has been fighting over with Leslie Adora. So when I get my shot and stomp the motherfucking light out of Leslie, I can hold my head high knowing that I’ve got a championship that was held by a tough bastard like Mason Destruction. Unfortunately, that means Mason will never get his hands on the motherfucker again, cause once I win it, I ain’t gonna lose it like he did.”
“That ain’t nothing personal, Mason. When I become the greatest Ascension Champion in history, it won’t make your accomplishment mean anything less. It will just mean that on the scale of bad motherfuckers, you’re not quite up to par. Don’t cry about it, Backyardigan, cause not many are. On the bright side of things, DeMarco has given you the opportunity to get familiar with disappointment, ‘cause you’re scheduled to get your ass beat right alongside Havoc in Barbed Wire Heaven. Just like that weird motherfucker, I don’t expect it to be easy. Like I said, you’re a tough bastard and I know I’m in for a fight. Granted, it’s a fight I plan on winning, even if some motherfuckers around this place are trying to stack the odds against me.”
“Even Stevie motherfucking Wonder could see that the rules of this match might favor guys like Mason or Havoc, considering there’s gonna be barbed wire on chairs, barbed wire on tables, barbed wire on the fans, and barbed wire up the referee’s ass. That’s the kind of backyard bullshit that Mason Destruction feels at home with. I simply can’t relate to that, cause my backyard has a jacuzzi and a putting green. Despite those odds against me and the fact that I somewhat, kinda sorta, respect a guy like Mason Destruction, you’re still looking at the winner of Fallout’s upcoming main event.”
Julius turns his face back towards the camera, his expression brimming with confidence.
“Maybe you’re new around here like that motherfucker named Syndicate, and you’re in need of a proper introduction. My name is “Furious” Julius Fairweather, the Gatekeeper of Fallout, the Shepherd of the Weak, the Tyranny of Evil Men, and the bad motherfucker who’s gonna kick all kinds of barbed wire covered ass with his barbed wire covered boots. There’s a reason I’m on a winning streak right now, and that’s because I always find a way to turn chicken shit into chicken salad. I don’t let my personal opinions or relationships get in my motherfucking way. I don’t let fractures, fire, or friendships slow me down. I find a way to win no matter what it takes, even if that means wrapping three other motherfuckers in barbed wire, stacking them on top of each other, and pinning them all at the same time.”
“Now that introduction may seem a little hardcore, and for a guy like Syndicate who’s only been here for a couple of months, it may just make him second guess his motherfucking career path. So if he shows up selling concessions this week instead of stepping up to the plate against a motherfucker like myself, all I can say is, ‘my bad’. By all means, Syndi, don’t give up on your dreams too easily, cause I promise you won’t have to fight me every week. Even if you do, I can only assume that you’ll get used to losing. Just like Mason and Havoc, you’ll get a little taste of what that’s like later this week. My guess? It’s gonna taste a lot like blood-stained barbed wire.”
Julius takes his attention off the camera as he continues, manipulating something in his hands that he has not yet revealed to the camera.
“So yeah, we’ve got ourselves a barbed wire wrapped situation, don’t we? Whether you’ve lost to me before or you’re fixing to make a career out of coming in second place, there’s about to be a few motherfuckers soaking in that sweet agony of defeat. That’s because I’ve also got the barbed wire wrapped solution.”
Julius holds up both fists in front of the camera, revealing his FJF and BMF brass knuckles wrapped in barbed wire.
“Yeah, I do consider you to be three of the best around here, but that’s where the similarities between the four of us come to an end. Havoc...Mason Destruction...Syndicate...none of you are as good as this pair right here. The streak I’m on ain’t about to stop until I’ve got a taste of that gold we all crave. Beating your asses in Barbed Wire Heaven is gonna raise my standing in the Elite Seven and get me one step closer to achieving that goal. When it comes to accepting that motherfucking reality, the three of you have two choices; you can be cool, or you can be gone.”
With his promo complete, Julius would send Cameron on his way back to the hotel in order to continue exploring all that Osaka had to offer. While this would free Julius up to follow his own path, it also gave Cameron the opportunity to report to his employers in The Fairweather Revenge Squad. Meanwhile, Winston was concluding his own business in rural Mississippi. Having told them of their shared history and the recent hit-and-run attempt, the four men gathered around Winston not only understood why their services were needed, but also how much the safety of Julius Fairweather meant to the middle-aged emcee. Winston, however, did not understand everything about the four aging mercenaries.
“I can’t help but wonder, Mr. Smith...why the disguise?”
The leader of the mercenary group bit down on his cigar as he removed his cheap wig and moustache.
“We had to make sure you are who you said you were. We may have been out of action for a while, but the military police could still be on our trail. Still, I think we might just be the solution to your problems.”
“I see. So does this mean you’ll take the job?”
The elderly Viet Nam vet smiled as he pulled the cigar from his mouth and nodded at Winston.
“Congratulations, Mr. Winfield. You’ve just hired our Mother Fucking Team.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
WHO ARE THE MF TEAM? WHAT IS THE FAIRWEATHER REVENGE SQUAD’S NEXT MOVE? HOW MANY F-BOMBS CAN JULIUS DROP BEFORE NIGHT OF HONOR? FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON THE FAIRWEATHER SAGA...SAME MOTHERFUCKING TIME, SAME MOTHERFUCKING CHANNEL!
