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Theology; A debate?
Topic Started: Apr 9 2008, 03:13 PM (64 Views)
Poirot
Unregistered

[Blake Orange has managed to regain his momentum this week. With a pinfall victory over Shaun Wilson and a new cohort in Mr. Blond, Blake is back on schedule after coming up short in the Gauntlet. Blake now has a firm foot in the door of Full Intensity Wrestling and is going nowhere anytime soon. We starwipe open to a door with a solid gold plaque attatched to the front. Engraved into the gold plaque are the words "Blake Orange" and beneath them - "Chief Executive Officer". A hand reaches out from out of shot, our cameraman's, and knocks firmly on the door.]

Voice: Enter!

[The door swings open and the camera strides in to find a small but still somewhat lavisly furnished office. A black leather couch sits with its back on the wall, next to a lush green fern and a small table with a ornate lamp on it. As the camera pans to the right, it catches the 50" high-def television that sits on a swivel stand. On is it is currently the replay of this week's ReVolt. The camera continues to swivel to the right and it comes across the familiar mahgony desk and finally we see Blake Orange sitting behind it and behind him, his new protégé, Mr. Blond puffing on a cigar, a look of content on his face and a big fat wad of dollars in his top shirt pocket. Both are clad in subtley off-white suits with rather loud pink shirts on beneath. He smiles into the camera.]

Blake Orange: Ahh! How good it is to see another camera again! The last time I was on tape was for my triumphant victory this week on ReVolt. Infact I have it on right now, would you care to watch?

Cameraman: No, thank you.

Blake Orange: Quite right, one such as I shouldn't dwell on the past too often. Instead I'm going to look towards the future. I really must phone George Lucas up and see if he's interested in my idea for a Jamacan Amphibian and a complete set of prequel films to Star Wars.

Cameraman: Uh, Blake--

Blake Orange: Don't interupt me now, I'm on a role. I've already gained the rights to make War & Peace the movie and mine is gonna be much greater than that awful Soviet version they released in the sixties. Bah! Russians, what idiots. I don't think that any Russian person has ever made ANY cultural significance to this Earth. Not one single word that has ever been written in the Cyrillic alphabet has made any importance to the way we view the world.

Cameraman: But Tolstoy was--

Blake Orange: Silence! You're making me go off track. My director tells me that I've got an all star cast lined up but to take center stage is the man you see standing behind me, the man who earned his reward by being the first referee to officiate my matches in FIW fairly, Mr. Blond!

[Blondie takes a bow.]

Blake Orange: We'll probably cast him as Heathcliff or something. Now, you have for me what I requested my friend?

Cameraman: Yessir. Here it is.

[The cameraman hands over a sheet of paper to Blake. Blake eyes it for a moment and the crumples it up in to a ball and throws it across the room, the ball landing in a waste paper basket.]

Blake Orange: So... another triple threat match eh? Against the two new boys. A man who pretends to chop down trees in his spare time and a man who worships invisible deitys.

Mr. Blond: Pureest an' El Lumbor-jacko already done been here before boss. Now they back they's lookin' fur a way to get back to the top. But don'tcha worry boss, ah'm fixin to keep mah eyes furmly on 'em durin' tha match, so's they don't go cheatin' or nuttin.

Blake Orange: Excellent, this is why I hired you Mr. Blond. See from what I've heard Priest and El Lumberjacko are two of the biggest bottom feeders out there. I mean... the man thinks he's a LUMBERJACK! He clearly has a screw lose. What kind of mental patients are FIW hiring now-a-days when a man who chops down trees for a living is allowed to step into my ring and face me? I have no idea what this place is capable off. My first pay-per-view here and a man gets incinerated in a giant oven! And on the same night, your former employer manages to mangle himself beyond recognition with a ring full of barbedwire. Sometimes I wonder why I signed that contract.

[Blake sighs and stands up. He pulls back the curtains to his seemingly always dark office rooms. It appears that we're in Orange Industries Connecticut office, or more specifically, the headquarters for Orange Pictures. Outside we can see a film set staffed by many men sitting in chairs barking through megaphones at each other like it was a contest between Lions to determine their alpha-male. Little do they realise that their God is overlooking them.]

Blake Orange: See out that window Blond? I own all of those people. If I want to I can make any of them rich beyond their wildest dreams, or I can destroy them until they're forgotton. And not just the people who work for me Blond, Blake Orange has an effect on this entire world. Just like the "real" god I suppose. That abstract concept that only an spud eating Irishman like Priest could worship in his own special way. The god of Abraham. Catholicism - A religion that is an impressive, towering edifice built on the flimsiest of foundations! A man like Priest actually spends his time talking to himself with his hands together! Just imagine it Blond - every night before he crawls into bed next to his Lil' and Large brothers, Priest gets down on his knees and says some desperate prayer to the almighty. Begging Jesus to keep Finn, Owen safe from the big bad forces of darkness that lurk in the shadows.

Mr. Blond: Seems tuh me tha' he should be prayin' fuh his own ass. Hur hur!

Blake Orange: Well Blond, last night I know that Priest didn't pray for Owen and Finn to be tucked up safe and sound. No, last night Priest became selfish and self-centered. When it came seven o'clock last night, I know for a fact that Priest jumped into his Jesus pajamas, kissed his little brothers night night and then climbed to the roof of his scumbag appartment in Boston or wherever the Irish ghettos are these days. Once there, Priest got down on his knees and prayed harder and with more love than he ever has in his life. Even more so than the time big Finn injured little Owen when he dropped the Blarney Stone on his head. Priest looked up to the sky praying to his god that I, Blake Orange, GOD of the finnancial and wrestling world would grant mercy to Priest and his little leprechaun lackeys.

Mr. Blond: Soun's abou't raght. Ah knew uh irish man one time. Took tah passin' hisself off as a guy called Remy. Saw right through him though, yessir. Turns ou' his name were Crow-lee.

Blake Orange: Typical - and the Irish actually have the gaul to call themselves Celtic. Priest is going to be a piece of cake this week on ReVolt. After all the man defeats the Dragon in his comeback match and now believes this qualifies him to compete against Blake Orange? God must have a strange plan for such a devout follower, a true test of faith. A test of how much pain one man's body can be put through. Jesus Christ himself won't have suffered as much as Priest will have before I'm finished.

[Blake turns back to us after his oddly ironical rant of a zealot and an atheist combined.]

Blake Orange: Now, El Lumberjacko. I saw what he did to that little tattooed girl on ReVolt this past week. Infact I was watching it before you arrived mister cameraman. I also saw what he was up to with that computer. Where he found a computer that could talk back to him I don't know. Such a sophisticated piece of technology in the hands of a man who guzzles maple syrup and pancakes at all hours of the day.

[Mr. Blond rubs his stomach.]

Mr. Blond: Mmmm... Ah sure could go fur some pancakes right now boss...

Blake Orange: Later. So it seems that FIW have placed their future crown jewel, regretably, in a match with two completely insane men. What is a man to do? How is Blake Orange going to overcome these odds and win a match against men that have an IQ of 31 between them?

[Blond and Blake make eye contact and both bust out into uncontrolable laughter.]

Blake Orange: But seriously, lets go and get those pancakes Blond.

Mr. Blond: Ah reckon ah might could drive your car boss? Ah always wan'ed to drive uh porsha.

Blake Orange: No.

Mr. Blond: Daymn.

[Star-wipe out.]
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