Jokester struggling for a promo idea? Never!!!!

[legendaryken]

Screen is blank at first then suddenly the lights switch on and Jokester is in an armchair with a mic and a thick book on his lap. He grins at the camera.

Jokester: Hello. EWE superstar, Jokester here. Now. Many of you won’t recognise me as my camera time has been badly curtailed of late while has-beens like Judge and JMC are given main events and massive budgets for their little promotional segments.

Jokester pauses to sip at a cheap bottle of supermarket beer.

So I went to Jeffrey O’Donnell to complain and, to his credit, he gave me the chance to thrash those two in a triple threat match. But when I asked for a budget to make an all-singing, all dancing blockbuster promo in the Bahamas at a 5 star resort, he told me to folk off……..I think it was folk……my hearing is going a bit. He told me ‘Jokester, there are those that say that these two are so entertaining that they could make an interesting promo out of a simple reading of the phone book. Why don’t you give that a shot? Here’s a euro for a beer, there’s the camera guy and I’m sure there’s a phone book in your hotel room. Best of luck!’

Jokester finishes his beer and throws the bottle over his shoulder.

Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking that now that I’m pregnant but, meh, a free beer’s a beer.
Now, O’Donnell may have been taking the piss but anything JMC and Judge can do, I can do better so, here goes.

(clears throat and starts reading from the book on his lap)

The Glasgow South directory from JMC to Judge……and a bit beyond. No, I don’t know why the Glasgow South directory was in a hotel room in Manchester…..other than Manchester is south of Glasgow.
Here goes…….

JMC - Janice’s Manky Cakes : Mmmmmm, cake…….just a bit manky.
Jewish Music Centre - Hava Negila? Well, if you don’t, you can get one here.
JMC IT - Award winning IT support. Servicing the North of England. From some tenement flat in Glasgow? Well, I don’t suppose you need much space when all you do is tell people to switch it off and on again.
JR Wrestling Commentary - available for indie bookings. Will do Bar Mitzvahs.
Javed Saalim Mohammed Ali - Comedian and Balloon animals. Will not do Bar Mitzvahs.
Judge A
Judge A
Judge Another A
Judge Frank K
Judge G
Judge J ……..jeez, what a big family. I didn’t realise how many hookers Judge went through when he was last in Glasgow.
Judge J
Judge Linda…………Linda, eh? I’ll just take a note of that one.

(Tears strip out of book)

Judge S
Judges for hire - In a fix? Up shit creek without a paddle? Looking at a stretch in the Bar L? We can make that go away for minimal cost. Phone 0141 555 1234 and ask for Judge Bent
Judge T
Juhasz P……….Juhasz? Someone’s making that up, surely? That’s just the sorta name that would go on my fake passport.
Jukes Alan
Jukes P………..Well, of course Jukes pee. So do Princes. I’m not sure about the Queen ever taking a dump though........ .....Just can’t imagine that ever happening.
Juma Linda………..another Linda? Well, I’m not fussy.
Jump PL……….That’s just a subliminal message to jump, please.

(Jokester does an involuntary little jump) Wow! I never knew that worked!
Junaid F
Junner D
Junner K
Junner RM
Junnor L
Jupps F
Jurenkobs V………that’s gotta be a filthy anagram
Jurie A
Jussa A
Just A…………just a what? Don’t keep me dangling like that!
Just B…………just be myself presumably
Justeice S
Justice G…..now there’s a superhero in disguise if ever I saw one………humble George Justice, accountant by day, masked vigilante by night.
Justice W…….that’ll be his sidekick.
Jute Rev D……that’ll be the local Church of Scotland minister but that way round, it’s a cool rapper name.
Jutson Mrs M………Mrs? Why put Mrs in the phone book? Is this just to show off to all your schoolfriends? ‘Haha! They said I was built like the number 78 to Auchenshuggle, that I would never trick someone down the aisle? Well…..who’s laughing now?’ Not Mr Jutson, I’ll bet.

Jokester snaps the book shut.

Anyway, that’s us onto the Ks after that. This promo was brought to you by the bargain basement division of EWE. If you wanna see Jokester do more lavish promos with lotsa nude dancing girls, protest to jeffreyodonnell@EWE.com (jeffreyodonnell@EWE.com). If you’re happy to hear more of the phone book, send me your favourite page number and I’ll see what I can do.

See ya! Wouldn’t wanna be ya……..unless you’re Warren Buffett or Bill Gates or whoever’s fucking Kelly Brook right now. Then we can talk.

End.

[Prometheus]

It is another typical standard locker room, the walls are a standard cream colour, reflecting both the light and a feel of utter neutrality onto the scene occurring before it. Before us we see a seen of mixed but generally positive celebration, the faces we see are EWE stars. Elijah Edwards, Jesse Long, Phill Bennett and the like pop out at us immediately. The Judge seems to be the bigger centre of attention though, as he is being brought in with the EWE title after having successfully defended it. Jeremiah Ranks appears first to congratulate with a handshake...

The scene changes with an almighty scream of agony.

Ringside at London. JMC is lying on the ground, clasping his hand to his chest in a vain attempt to somehow stop the pain. That automatic response we all get in those situations. It is seemingly hardwired into our brains, the part that takes over when we can’t think. His arm is bent at an incredibly unnatural angle. He rolls over doubled in pain but it places more pressure onto his arm and he screams again. The Medical teams begin to converge on him to assist JMC in his pain, but he pushes them away and tempts to compose himself, but the pain becomes too unbearable and he cannot mask it.

Thanks is sometimes enough.

The scene cuts back to the locker, the celebrations have died and wrestlers have begun to exit the locker room for wherever it is they wish to celebrate further, if at all. The Shot cuts to the EWE title, lying on a bench before a hand comes and picks it up, taking it away with him.

It does not matter if you understand my reasoning.
I still have them and the fact is that I wanted to help you.

The scene cuts to a hospital, it emanates an aura of being overly-hygienic. JMC lies on a table with his eyes closed, his face neutral and his arm to one side. The medical professionals are gathered around it, seemingly uninterested in “just another broken arm”. What this injury means, how it happened and the like. Doesn’t matter to them. But that brain, the one under anaesthetic, is whirling around with thoughts, calculations, facts, hopes, emotions. All of the bubble away in dreams.

Am I going to get one? I tried my damndest to save him from losing it all. But what is going to be said about what I did? People are beginning to be of the opinion that I am losing my mind. I protect people I should hurt. I leave to rot those who I confess to care for. And i will fight the stong to help the weak but in the same breath I will defeat the weak for little else but a whim and pleasure of success. I know I have reasons to do so. I know why i do these things, but everyone else does not. Perhaps that is the reason. Perhaps that is why I do it, to make those guess my motives. Sometimes it is. Sometimes I enjoy that I know more than others, that I am in control of situations. I saved The Judge simply because he is far more....

The Doctor moves backwards in alarm. JMC has begun to convulse rapidly throwing his arm in a variety of angles, banging it against the examination table. He is reacting to the anaesthetic in a very negative way. Nurses and orderlies move in to restrain his uncontrollable movements but the find it hard to. He gets his broken arm free and it hits the table with such force that another sickening crunch of bone echoes through the sterile room. JMC goes limp again and the orderlies begin to strap him down onto the table, the doctor moves forward to examine the injury and swears under his breath. The mind does not speak now, it remains silent, incapable of thought, unable to bear the consciousness and what it brings to him, the thoughts, the facts, the pain.

But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry
But come thy ways; well go along together,
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

[The Judge]

It was a dark night in England, darker than usual with the moon at half crescent and in one of the less populated areas where the street lights were far more spaced out, lighting just enough to see your way, and also just enough to make a safe get away. The Judge was unafraid of the dark alley way in England as he walked down it, despite his memories of the city being plagued with the infamous two losses in one night, one to the entire roster, two sins that brought him closer to a defeat he would not see. The memories floated through his mind as he walked through the alley, the memories of the burden on his shoulders the last time he was here now turned into a smile in his mind. His shoulders were strong, his course was in no doubt, yet just as he did the last time, he walks the streets of England preparing for the storm.

The Judge had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat and stopped to lean against the wall of a building. A business that had closed. The Judge looked at the building with such familiarity, seeing them his whole life, but still with such sadness. A lesson that some acknowledge and others wish to forever ignore, even the mighty do fall. One day he would fall as well and this was on his mind, perhaps even this week he will fall, but for now he still stands, and even lights a cigarette. The Judge smokes for a moment before flipping it back down to the ground and smothering it with his boot.

“You were right all along James…”

The Judge speaks, his voice was low and scratchy, he looked up at the stars past the dim lit glow of the street lights.

“You have to walk a man’s shoes to understand, but I do understand now, I do see now, I do see what you told me all along. The more you accomplish, the more it seems you end up alone. I did it James… You saw me do it, you felt me do it, you were there, and when I earned my Redemption I know that you were watching. You can say you hate me, and there may always be things about me that you despise, but there’s no denying the truth. I’m the closest thing you’ve ever had to someone you could call a brother, more so then your real brother, and that’s why it hurts you so, that’s why it hurts me so. You were supposed to be the one there cheering me as I made it, not the one standing in my way, and deep down you always cared for everything and everyone more then you would show.

That’s why you caught me.

That’s why I knew you’d be the one who’d catch me. And that’s why now I must catch you. You may refuse my help but you have it regardless because months ago I said something to you that wasn’t true. I said you were a lost cause, and even then I didn’t mean it. Even then I knew I could save you, but I was too busy saving myself to give you my hand, yet still it is your hand that you did indeed give to save me.”

The Judge shakes his head for a moment as he leaves the building behind, he walks toward a more well lit street now, the soft glow of light beginning to come over him.

“I could and will say thank you James, I could say that once again it is because of you that I am where I am, but those are all just words and you and I are known to masterfully craft them, so I will do you one better. I will do what’s right, and no matter what your motivation is James I will do everything in my power to help you, or to do myself what you may struggle to right now. For if you can not… I will.

Pin Jokester.”

The Judge stands in the glow of the lights as the scene fades.

[legendaryken]

Jokester walks on camera. The set is bare and J doesn't even have a beer this time.

Jokester: Wow! Deep! As deep as The Mariana Trench! As deep as The Eurozone's collective debt! As deep as Katie Price's vagina!.........well........maybe not that deep.
Guys........guys........guys.......you try and sell depth as wisdom.........as knowledge.......as confidence.......but for those of us with a post grad degree from the University of Life, we can see past such bullshit.

JMC - As You Like It, Act 2 Scene 3. Here's another one from the same source........

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,

Smart guy, Shakespeare. Imagine how good he could have been if he learned how to rhyme!

Judge........'You have to walk in a man's shoes to understand....' I wouldn't recommend walking in these shoes. The only thing you'd understand is the constant itch of trench foot. 2 defeats in one night in Manchester? Ah, yeah. I remember that.........in fact, I may have had something to do with that.
Well, sorry to disappoint once again but third time is not the charm for you. Three strikes and you are most definitely out.........out of luck......out of time........out of the number one position.

Anyway guys, gotta dash - I'm the special guest at Paul McCartney's gig in Glasgow tonight! I'm so excited! I'm playing bass.......and singing......though for some reason I'm at a completely different venue. Paul thought that would work better for some reason.
Catch up with you both tomorrow.

Jokester walks off camera for a couple of seconds then returns.

No joke.

[Prometheus]

The scene opens up on James Moriarty Cassius in front of the camera. He had his hand, his broken one, behind his back. He does not wear a jacket like he usually does, but a collared shirt and a vest. The situation he stands in is that of a library encased in a stonewalled room. There are a variety of books behind him in the bookcase, some of them leather-bound and old, but scattered amongst them are new ones, paperback, plastic ones even. And filed together too. He begisn to speak, taking care to keep his hand behind his back.

Oh Jokester. I thought long ago, back in the days of yore in WPW, I thought you had realised a rather simple fact. In truth, you may even call it the ONLY fact when it comes to duelling wits with the Prince of cats. Those times where you were denied by me at being the WPW champion. When you thought the comedies of the now, the insinuations of defecation and intercourse, were any better than the wit of the written styles. I have four hundred years of time behind my words and wiles. Four hundred years of thought and understanding to play from. For each Generation will reinvent the meaning of Shakespeare so that it appeals to them, so that It understanding is re-found. New History. New Historicism. I myself am a redefinition unto myself, take the works and applying it to me can become greater. And there is one rule you forgot to follow with Shakespeare, one simple rule. One rule to remember if you have any hopes of seeming intelligible. If you planned on winning the war of the words there is one item you do not forget.

You never try to out-Shakespeare James Moriarty Cassius.

Cassius smiles and indicates the books behind him. He grabs one, revealing his hand for the first time, but it does not stay out for long. He almost seems embarrassed to show it despite it being public enough knowledge. The Book is entitled “What you Will”, bynone other than Shakespeare.

And you are about to see why...

While it is lovely to see you have been doing a small amount of research, possibly using Google and words like “Comedy Good Shakespeare”, it simply does not match up. For he can often see the other side of the argument of the idiot that you play.
I marvel your ladyship takes delight in
such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the
other day with an ordinary fool that has no more
brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of
his guard already; unless you laugh and minister
occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take
these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of
fools, no better than the fools' zanies.

And it is so true. Every word of the Malvolio speech just fits oh so well with you. You are not lusty or virile or anything you pretend to be. You want to entertain, you want to joke. You want to keep the comedy rolling and let the insults hurl. The only fault you will find is that insults.. Well, insults are easy. They can be wielded by the unfit with ease, plagiarised by the uncreative. You are pathetic. Your mother is so large that other, smaller mothers will orbit around her. All this and the like are weakened by the sayer and even by the greatest minds... They will only be effective if the person lets them become so. Any ordinary fool can defeat an extraordinary fool. And from there, where else is it to go? He is gagged.

Your artform is weaker than mine. Your hopes are dashed by the fact you rely on the comedic. The insultive. You ask the man what Shakespeare he can name. And he will say Hamlet and Macbeth. He Won’t say As You Like it or Twelfth Night or a Comedy or Errors. Good as they are, they are not memorable. They are forgotten or overlooked for the severe. The interesting. The ones that contemplate the human existence, and you never contemplate your existence do you. You joke and you skip along. But you are running. Running from the dramatic. The seriousness your life demands. I, however am the one to embrace my severity of life. The fact I have a brother who hates me, friends who have abandoned me and stolen the only thing I care about. It hurts me. It hurts me more than this hand’s destruction and replication did multiplied a thousandfold. I sit in this life and it feels woeful , i admit that. It hurts to drive on.. but I never lie about it. I never fool myself into comedy in serious situations. Because it alters the world around me. And to pretend the monster coming before you is nought more than a clown with a bow tie and ready to be ridiculed, it makes you underestimate. Confusing yourself. You are the comedic man in the tragic world.

The tragedy may be that I may have to half you as well. As much as it disgusts me. For you see, I have never been able to pin The Judge at all. Or at least, while knowing his identity..And it has been a passion to do so... But If I do. You are along for the ride that will be the title hunt. If i can finally lay claim to defeating The Judge, you gain your advantage through my hard work. Like Adam in your little quote, You are just along because it is where others go. Call me Orlando thusforth if that be so the case. I am the one doing the adventuring as you stay where you always have been, attempting to be virile.

Jokester, whatever you pretend to be.. You are the Clown. The Zanni, the Feste. And be happy with that if you like. Be happy that you are the one who is the one audiences laugh at for the times they wear the silly hat or say the silly line or walk the absurdist walk. But when every play ends, the comedic characters do not end up on top. They do not end up celebrated as heroes or happily married with success and empires to be their own. They end up drunk. Depressed or just plain left out of the circle of greatness that the play has created. No fool becomes a god or a king. They end up marrying by force the cow-maid the size of a tank. They end up dead and having their skulls lamented upon. Or committing suicide. They end up staying exactly where they are. The sufferers do. The ones who follow the main plot. The ones who have to deal with death, disaster and discomfort. They are the ones who gain championships, who lead the way, who stand tall at the heads of battles. I am that. I am the one who suffers and battles. Who has tragedy and disaster and pain thrown into my face and forced to devour it by the fates all around me. And only to take one small step forwards. I am the one who gets the victory, and if i die along the way then so be it. But I am the one who ends up champion. I am the Macduff who becomes the King of Scotland. The Prince of Cats who becomes the ruler.

And nor do I joke.

[legendaryken]

Your mother is so large that other, smaller mothers will orbit around her.

Shakespeare - the originator of the 'Yo momma' gag - I bow down and offer the highest praise.

See also....
Mother-in laws- don't talketh thee to me about mother-in-laws. Mine be so fat, the newly established letter conveyance service hath upon her bestow-ed her own postal-code!

[Prometheus]

And here I was thinking it was Freud...