Post by Hammerstein on Dec 22, 2017 12:27:20 GMT
Hammerstein sits meditating on the floor in the candle-lit great room of the abandoned Victorian style mansion in Mexico City. A timid voice interrupts his quiet time.
Señor Hammerstein?
What do you want Eduardo? I told you I wanted to be left alone.
Yes, Señor Hammerstein, I understand. But I wanted to let you know how appreciative we are for your generous gift to all the children of this city. Your generosity will bring a small bit of Christmas joy to so many children who have lost everything in the earthquake.
Children are innocent, Eduardo. They don't deserve to suffer the karmic retribution that many of the mongrel politicians that live in this cesspool of a city do. I will send a representative from Feed the World to facilitate the food and clothing drops. Now leave me alone, Eduardo, before I reconsider my generosity.
Eduardo leaves, but is replaced by Dave Buchanan, Hammerstein's agent, and cousin by marriage.
Look Hammy, I gotta ask. Why the anonymity? This thing you’re doing could bring so much positive press to yourself and Buck-U Productions by publicizing this donation you're making. This is a hell of a lot of money.
Hammerstein sighs, knowing his meditation time has been irreversibly disrupted.
Look Dave, for it to be a true act of charity, the giver of the gift must be anonymous. Charity isn't really charity if there's a photo op attached.
Dave shakes his head in agreement.
You're right, Hammy.
I know I'm right, Dave.
Jacob?
What, Dave?
When you gonna call Holly?
____________________
*On Camera*
Team War on Christmas is, in reality, not a team. Mohammed Al Thani, Julian Tijerina, even my fellow Horseman, Alan Envy. I've spoken with them. They tow the “company line,” but I know the score, and I understand. They're only in this for the individual recognitions and accolades. They have no corporate plan , while Team Hyperglycemia has a team goal: protect Honey as she leads them to victory.
I, on the other hand, have a singular purpose, an endgame, if you will: I will rule over The GoL. I'll make every soul in this company, Technico and Rudo alike, bow the knee and kiss the ring. Wrestlers like Brooks, Stryker, White, Al Thani, Tijerina, Envy, and even Roxi Johnson. They will all proclaim me as their king and ruler. Hell, even those who claim authority here, Carlos Diaz and Chaos Dragón, will genuflect and grovel before me, after I storm my way to the top of the GoL. In the season that the birth of the Savior of the world is observed, The one true savior of this company, Jacob Hammerstein, will rise above the sycophants, the beggars, and the hangers on, and will seize the throne. And if I have to use the sun bleached bones of my partners to build that throne then I'll consider that their due benevolence.
____________________
Dave….
No, don't do that, man. Holly's my cousin and you're probably the best friend I got. But this is tearing her apart, and I know it's tearing you apart. You're talking about how you're on this quest to rule GoL and how that, until you do, you're not worthy of Holly's love. But that's bullshit, man.
So stop this craziness and call her. Go see her. Get it back together, man.
Hammerstein gets up and walks over to a makeshift liquor cabinet. He pulls out a bottle and looks around.
Where are the glasses, Dave?
Dave points the the floor next to the far wall, where a pile of broken glass lays.
Over there, man, where you've thrown them everytime we start talking about Holly. Look, all the whiskey in the world won't fix this. Giving all the money you have won't fix this. And even destroying Honey and her team won't fix this. The only thing that's gonna fix this is for you to get through whatever this is that's going on inside you, and go your crazy ass back home to Holly.
Hammerstein quickly turns to Buchanan, a scowl on his face. Dave steps back, his hands up.
Dude, don't kick my ass.
Hammerstein steps toward his agent/friend, and gives him a hug. He hands Dave the whiskey bottle, pats him on the shoulder, then walks up the staircase. Buchanan pulls out his phone, quickly texting someone. Within seconds, Dave's phone pings. Dave reads the text, smiles widely, then puts the phone in his pocket.
____________________
*On Camera*
Hammerstein stands on the deck of the ship as it sits, anchored, on The Atlantic Ocean. Though it’s December, the night air is warm. The moon illuminates the deck as the captain of Team Rudo leans against the deckrail.
Honey, do you ever wonder why?
Why, of all the people in The GoL, did I choose you to make my presence known?
I could have chosen Donald Trump’s favorite chubby little xenophobe, Sam Washington and his American Ultras. If anyone deserved to feel my wrath, he did. I should have flayed the skin from his fat ass and ended most of the Western Hemisphere’s hunger problem.
I could've chose Carlos Diaz and his troupe of clowns. They had done enough to me and others here to deserve to be beaten beyond recognition and gave the if mutilated bodies to the street dogs for a holiday feast.
Hell, I could even have chosen Roxi Johnson, the reigning champion here in the GoL. That would have been quite the sight to see, the heroine of all the Guerreros, lying bleeding, contorted and convulsing on the floor, her “superpowers” rendered of none effect.
But, I chose you, sweet Honey Sunshine.
Why?
I'll tell you.
Because you're a fraud, Honey.
I saw it when I grabbed a handful of those beautiful blonde locks of yours. You looked into my eyes and I looked into yours, and I saw something in them, my beautiful Super Falcon.
I saw fear. But I also saw something else.
Your eyes were like a well, Honey, a well that went straight into your soul. And I drank of a cup from your soul. And what I tasted, at first, was cloyingly sweet. It was the Honey that we all see when the cameras are on or when the Twitter time line is busy. The smiley face emojis and the sappy banter. The things that make those of us who live, unsheltered, in the real world, want to vomit.
But as I drank deeper, the cup got bitter, and I tasted several different notes, Honey. I tasted the fear that showed so clearly on your face. But I also found an arrogant sense of resentment. “How dare this guy interrupt MY moment. This is suppose to be MY moment.” This arrogance, Honey, it's so unbecoming. Your Daddies should have taught you better, and maybe they tried. Maybe underneath all the fluff, and the fake smiles, there are glimpses of the real you. A selfish, vain, egotistical little girl that has to have the spotlight on her all the time. Someone who will, no doubt, spin her team’s upcoming loss to make her comrades look the part of the weak links.
Julliet Brooks, Adam Stryker, and Joseph White would do well to heed my warnings, but they probably won't. I would warn them to abandon ship, but I suspect they would go down with Captain Honey and the ship.
Honey? Go down? Well, that's a story for another time, but you and I both know what I'm talking about, right, Honey?
And yet, I drank deeper still, and tasted an even more bitter draught. I tasted heartbreak, Honey. The heartbreak that came from your failed love affair. Now, I know mentioning his name would just bring you more pain, so I won't pick that low hanging fruit. I just wonder why? Why would someone leave such a prize? Could it be that maybe, just maybe, he saw the real you, after the makeup was off, so to speak, and decided you weren't worth it.
You've done such a fantastic job deceiving the masses, coming across as this magical ray of sunshine, that's never known the darkness. But I know better. I've seen the hairline cracks in the facade you've put up.
Honey, to paraphrase the old adage, ‘You can fool all of the people some of the time, and you can fool some of the people all of the time. But you can't fool Hammerstein anytime.’
Because deep down, Honey Sunshine, your soul is full of clouds and darkness.
And at Chapter Quince I will drink deep from the cup of your soul, taking away all the pretend smiles, all the false purity, and all the lies of goodness and light.
And leave you stripped down to the bare metal, so to speak, and exposed for what you truly are:
Prideful, deceitful, envious, vindictive, and manipulative.
In other words….just like me.
Real recognizes real, Honey.
Better the devil you know, right?
Señor Hammerstein?
What do you want Eduardo? I told you I wanted to be left alone.
Yes, Señor Hammerstein, I understand. But I wanted to let you know how appreciative we are for your generous gift to all the children of this city. Your generosity will bring a small bit of Christmas joy to so many children who have lost everything in the earthquake.
Children are innocent, Eduardo. They don't deserve to suffer the karmic retribution that many of the mongrel politicians that live in this cesspool of a city do. I will send a representative from Feed the World to facilitate the food and clothing drops. Now leave me alone, Eduardo, before I reconsider my generosity.
Eduardo leaves, but is replaced by Dave Buchanan, Hammerstein's agent, and cousin by marriage.
Look Hammy, I gotta ask. Why the anonymity? This thing you’re doing could bring so much positive press to yourself and Buck-U Productions by publicizing this donation you're making. This is a hell of a lot of money.
Hammerstein sighs, knowing his meditation time has been irreversibly disrupted.
Look Dave, for it to be a true act of charity, the giver of the gift must be anonymous. Charity isn't really charity if there's a photo op attached.
Dave shakes his head in agreement.
You're right, Hammy.
I know I'm right, Dave.
Jacob?
What, Dave?
When you gonna call Holly?
____________________
*On Camera*
Team War on Christmas is, in reality, not a team. Mohammed Al Thani, Julian Tijerina, even my fellow Horseman, Alan Envy. I've spoken with them. They tow the “company line,” but I know the score, and I understand. They're only in this for the individual recognitions and accolades. They have no corporate plan , while Team Hyperglycemia has a team goal: protect Honey as she leads them to victory.
I, on the other hand, have a singular purpose, an endgame, if you will: I will rule over The GoL. I'll make every soul in this company, Technico and Rudo alike, bow the knee and kiss the ring. Wrestlers like Brooks, Stryker, White, Al Thani, Tijerina, Envy, and even Roxi Johnson. They will all proclaim me as their king and ruler. Hell, even those who claim authority here, Carlos Diaz and Chaos Dragón, will genuflect and grovel before me, after I storm my way to the top of the GoL. In the season that the birth of the Savior of the world is observed, The one true savior of this company, Jacob Hammerstein, will rise above the sycophants, the beggars, and the hangers on, and will seize the throne. And if I have to use the sun bleached bones of my partners to build that throne then I'll consider that their due benevolence.
____________________
Dave….
No, don't do that, man. Holly's my cousin and you're probably the best friend I got. But this is tearing her apart, and I know it's tearing you apart. You're talking about how you're on this quest to rule GoL and how that, until you do, you're not worthy of Holly's love. But that's bullshit, man.
So stop this craziness and call her. Go see her. Get it back together, man.
Hammerstein gets up and walks over to a makeshift liquor cabinet. He pulls out a bottle and looks around.
Where are the glasses, Dave?
Dave points the the floor next to the far wall, where a pile of broken glass lays.
Over there, man, where you've thrown them everytime we start talking about Holly. Look, all the whiskey in the world won't fix this. Giving all the money you have won't fix this. And even destroying Honey and her team won't fix this. The only thing that's gonna fix this is for you to get through whatever this is that's going on inside you, and go your crazy ass back home to Holly.
Hammerstein quickly turns to Buchanan, a scowl on his face. Dave steps back, his hands up.
Dude, don't kick my ass.
Hammerstein steps toward his agent/friend, and gives him a hug. He hands Dave the whiskey bottle, pats him on the shoulder, then walks up the staircase. Buchanan pulls out his phone, quickly texting someone. Within seconds, Dave's phone pings. Dave reads the text, smiles widely, then puts the phone in his pocket.
____________________
*On Camera*
Hammerstein stands on the deck of the ship as it sits, anchored, on The Atlantic Ocean. Though it’s December, the night air is warm. The moon illuminates the deck as the captain of Team Rudo leans against the deckrail.
Honey, do you ever wonder why?
Why, of all the people in The GoL, did I choose you to make my presence known?
I could have chosen Donald Trump’s favorite chubby little xenophobe, Sam Washington and his American Ultras. If anyone deserved to feel my wrath, he did. I should have flayed the skin from his fat ass and ended most of the Western Hemisphere’s hunger problem.
I could've chose Carlos Diaz and his troupe of clowns. They had done enough to me and others here to deserve to be beaten beyond recognition and gave the if mutilated bodies to the street dogs for a holiday feast.
Hell, I could even have chosen Roxi Johnson, the reigning champion here in the GoL. That would have been quite the sight to see, the heroine of all the Guerreros, lying bleeding, contorted and convulsing on the floor, her “superpowers” rendered of none effect.
But, I chose you, sweet Honey Sunshine.
Why?
I'll tell you.
Because you're a fraud, Honey.
I saw it when I grabbed a handful of those beautiful blonde locks of yours. You looked into my eyes and I looked into yours, and I saw something in them, my beautiful Super Falcon.
I saw fear. But I also saw something else.
Your eyes were like a well, Honey, a well that went straight into your soul. And I drank of a cup from your soul. And what I tasted, at first, was cloyingly sweet. It was the Honey that we all see when the cameras are on or when the Twitter time line is busy. The smiley face emojis and the sappy banter. The things that make those of us who live, unsheltered, in the real world, want to vomit.
But as I drank deeper, the cup got bitter, and I tasted several different notes, Honey. I tasted the fear that showed so clearly on your face. But I also found an arrogant sense of resentment. “How dare this guy interrupt MY moment. This is suppose to be MY moment.” This arrogance, Honey, it's so unbecoming. Your Daddies should have taught you better, and maybe they tried. Maybe underneath all the fluff, and the fake smiles, there are glimpses of the real you. A selfish, vain, egotistical little girl that has to have the spotlight on her all the time. Someone who will, no doubt, spin her team’s upcoming loss to make her comrades look the part of the weak links.
Julliet Brooks, Adam Stryker, and Joseph White would do well to heed my warnings, but they probably won't. I would warn them to abandon ship, but I suspect they would go down with Captain Honey and the ship.
Honey? Go down? Well, that's a story for another time, but you and I both know what I'm talking about, right, Honey?
And yet, I drank deeper still, and tasted an even more bitter draught. I tasted heartbreak, Honey. The heartbreak that came from your failed love affair. Now, I know mentioning his name would just bring you more pain, so I won't pick that low hanging fruit. I just wonder why? Why would someone leave such a prize? Could it be that maybe, just maybe, he saw the real you, after the makeup was off, so to speak, and decided you weren't worth it.
You've done such a fantastic job deceiving the masses, coming across as this magical ray of sunshine, that's never known the darkness. But I know better. I've seen the hairline cracks in the facade you've put up.
Honey, to paraphrase the old adage, ‘You can fool all of the people some of the time, and you can fool some of the people all of the time. But you can't fool Hammerstein anytime.’
Because deep down, Honey Sunshine, your soul is full of clouds and darkness.
And at Chapter Quince I will drink deep from the cup of your soul, taking away all the pretend smiles, all the false purity, and all the lies of goodness and light.
And leave you stripped down to the bare metal, so to speak, and exposed for what you truly are:
Prideful, deceitful, envious, vindictive, and manipulative.
In other words….just like me.
Real recognizes real, Honey.
Better the devil you know, right?