Post by jackdiamond on Jul 1, 2016 12:41:31 GMT -5
Off Camera:
Dusk settles in over the Sunset Strip. Before us stands Jack Diamond wearing an impeccable Armani suit and impatient look on his face. Looming behind him is the Bellagio hotel. Its iconic fountain erupts to ‘Oohs’ and ‘Aaahs’ of passing tourists. Jack pays no attention though, his eyes checking his Rolex - seemingly not for the first time.
Jack: Figures the Cowboy would be late. (Mumbling) Should have told him high noon.
All walks of life pass by as Jack taps a patent leather shoe against the sidewalk. From well-dressed whales to chumps in flip flops and cargo shorts, they form a faceless mass. A commotion can be heard from the crowd as a man standing head, shoulders, and ten gallon hat, above the rest can be seen pushing through a throng of foreign visitors.
Dirk: Christ could you all move any slower!? Pretend like Godzilla is chasing you or something!
The tourists look back at Dirk and shout, likely profanity, in a different tongue
Jack: Yea, I’m wagering they weren’t Japanese.
Dirk: So? Don’t matter where they from, they’d still haul ass if Godzilla was on their heels.
They both laugh and shake hands
Dirk: Good to see you again Jacky-boy.
Jack: Been a long time Bentley, and I’ll take the hit for that. Got caught up with all the hustle and bustle in Southeast Asia - some real sweet deals to be made with their booming gambling scene.
He puts a hand on Dirk’s shoulder and nods approvingly
Jack: From the looks of it though you been doing well for yourself too slick. How long since I last saw you? I bet it has been at least a year.
Dirk: (evasively) Yeaaa, yea something like that.
Looking over Jack’s shoulder Dirk notices a cameraman
Dirk: The shit is with the camera, is it on? You didn’t become one of those Kardashians filming your every conversation and bowel movement did you?
Jack: This sucker, no we ain’t rolling. Thought about working a promo before you got here, but decided to wait until I got something worthwhile to play off.
Dirk: (a little less tense) Yea he’s gonna be waiting with his thumb up his ass for at least another week then - you may not even have anyone in the ring for your match at this rate. Not that mine will be much tougher, beating the snot out of that little bitch Grimes is something I could do in my sleep.
Jack: True, you got that one in the bag. Enough about that business though, let’s hoof it over to Golden Steer and catch up over some food - they sport the best steak in Vegas. You’ll dig it, has a Wild West vibe. Plus it’s my treat for going off the grid.
Dirk and Jack turn to walk toward their meal when suddenly a young man runs up to Bentley huffing and puffing. He looks familiar. In fact there is a slight resemblance to Diamond as he also dons a pinstripe suit and slicked back hair. But that is where the similarities end. His suit, unlike with Jack, is ill-fitting. The sleeves dangle well past his thin wrists. A crumpled pocket square looks more like a used tissue in the breast pocket. Meanwhile the slacks break way too high, revealing athletic socks. As sharp as Jack Diamond makes his threads look, this cat does the opposite.
Young man: Mr. Bentley so glad I found you! Sorry I’m late! I swore you said meet at the Diamond Club, but guess my mom must have taken the message down wrong. Aggggainnnn.
The kid lacks any composure, his movements quick and excited as he turns toward the Bellagio waterworks.
Young man: Ah bro great job picking a scene, right in front of the fountains. This is gonna be so epic, better than another vignette at that dusty old Diamond club.
Dirk tries to interrupt this kid, but he keeps burying himself deeper as now he pivots toward the cameraman
Young man: Hey so where you gonna be shooting from - am I coming from stage right or you opening with both of us already in frame?
Dirk: Hey, can you shut the f*ck up?
Jack: Alright Bentley, what’s the deal with the chump?
Before Dirk can explain the young man responds, an octave higher than before.
Young Man: Oh. My. God. OMG. You, you are the real….the real Jack Diamond!
He quickly reaches out a soft hand toward Jack, who only reacts by narrowing his eyes into a glare. The young man is too in the moment to even notice.
Young man: I’m such a huge fan, I’ve really practiced trying to get your impersonation perfect. Spent hours in front of the mirror working your mannerisms. Even went over to my old man’s house and borrowed some DVDs from your CFW days he has in his collection. Watched every one trying to learn your cadence. Here, here watch!
The impersonator fumbles with his jacket pocket to pull out a pair of plastic-rimmed shades. He puts them on, hands trembling. Then he rips them off and gives his best intimidating stare -
Impersonator: I’m the king in this deck of jokers!
Dirk groans and facepalms
Dirk: For shit’s sake…
The impersonator holds his position like a statue, as if waiting for approval to free him. Jack also stands motionless, his icy gaze locked on his discrepant doppelganger, as he addresses Dirk...
Jack: You owe me an explanation slick….
He looks the performer up and down
Jack: That ain’t Armani is it?
Still holding his pose though starting to shake a little
Impersonator: Alfani actually; my stepdad got it on sale at Macy's...
Diamond does not break his stare
Jack:...and Dirk, it better be good
Dirk: First, I don’t owe you shit. You went ghost for well over a year while in Asia; doing business ventures or blowing Filipino trannies, or whatever it is you were doing.
Trying not to lose his cool Dirk exhales and starts again
Dirk: Look, I have done well for myself since you were gone. Really well; God would have to borrow money from me rich. But the snobs and brown-nosing pricks that run this town? They take one look at me and suddenly (in a demeaning posh accent that still keeps its redneck twang) “I’m sorry sir we don’t have any tables available”. Or “I don’t see your name on the list”. It’s bull, they never pulled that shit when you were in town - you had the reputation with these elitists. So I figured I could put some lipstick on a hog and sell him off as you to these rope guarding punks. Sure enough they bought it - I walk up with Jack Diamond-Lite over here and suddenly they put on the f*cking Ritz. Face it Jack-O, you would have done the same.
Diamond looks away from Fake Jack toward Dirk, his demeanor softening slightly.
Jack: Couldn’t have plopped down a few more bucks to get someone that looks the part?
The actor finally breaks his pose, shocked at Jack’s disapproval
Impersonator: Whoa I think I’m pulling this off pretty well; Slick!
Diamond raises an index finger to hush the performer. Dirk raises a different finger, also a sign for the kid to shut up.
Dirk: Well, you ain't as pretty as you like to think you are Jacky boy. But the key was working the right camera angles, keeping him just far enough away….
He turns and glares at the impersonator
Dirk: And keeping his mouth shut.
Jack: Must take a lot of smoke and mirrors though to make this joker look like me….
Thinking pensively for a brief moment
Jack: Though not like I spend time fraternizing with the help at the Diamond club. Bet most have no idea what I even look like.
The daggers disappear from Diamond’s eyes, his stoic poker face breaking as he chuckles.
Jack: Well played Dirk, gotta admit you pulled quite the fast one.
Dirk: Damn right I did - so we ain’t gonna have any trouble?
Jack: Not at all man, we’re straight. Actually it gives me an idea.
Snapping at the camera man
Jack: Get ready to roll. I am gonna pull out a promo after all. Dirk, feel free to head over to Golden Steer - get started on some scotch. This won’t take long at all.
On Camera:
Our screen is enveloped in a light blue. The color oscillates rhythmically, and we hear muffled music. Tilting up the shot introduces some white; eventually replacing the blue entirely. Bedazzled gold accents accompany the cream-colored sea, which continues to move melodically. In the background the music is becoming more clear, a somber tempo, along with the lyrics:
: “Baby if I made you mad”
Zooming out allows us to identify the origin of the scene’s colors; and the music. In front of us is the King - not of this deck of jokers - but of Rock and Roll. Well, at least the man in front of us looks vaguely similar to Elvis Presley. This croonin’ cat ate far more peanut butter and banana sandwiches than the iconic white jumpsuit can comfortably contain. He sways, pivoting his blue suede shoes.
Fake Elvis: “For something I might have said’
Elvis does not stand a stage; instead he gyrates and sings on a sidewalk in front of McDonald’s. The throngs of adoring fans the original Presley serenaded is instead a handful of semi-interested tourists and far more pedestrians walking right along.
Fake Elvis: “Please, let’s forget the past”
Among the handful catching the ‘show’ is none other than Jack Diamond.
Fake Elvis: “The future looks bright ahead”
He makes eye contact with the camera and nods his head to the left and begins walking away, signaling the camera to follow suit. Panning around the crowd, Jack is now the focus of the shot
Fake Elvis: “Don’t be cruel….”
The music fades away. A panorama shows that Elvis is not the only act in town. Up and down the Strip are an assortment of characters - side shows looking for loose change from disinterested pedestrians. Briefly into our stroll a Mime appears on camera. Dressed in all black and white, from the striped shirt to the suspenders and makeup, he does a classic ‘stuck in a box’ schtick. The only thing quieter than the Mime’s performance is the reaction as people walk around him.
Jack: Let us deal with Mr. Mic Strong first. The former commentator without a voice. What does this joker have to offer that he hasn’t already said himself - nothing.
When Diamond passes by, the Mime goes for another classic - the invisible lasso - to wrangle him back over. But Jack is in no mood to be roped back in for even a second.
Jack: These street performers remind me of the saps and suckers signed up for NGW. A deck full of impersonators and imposters; nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Over half a decade and it is like I never left. You jokers are still playing the same tired cards, dealing in the same cliches, and shuffling out the same gimmicks.
Walking along, our camera spotting a Spartan look-a-like from the movie ‘300’ sporting a keg instead of a six pack. He takes selfies with a less than enthused bachelorette party. Several coordinated performers are dressed as Marvel superheroes; their costumes so poor that Disney wouldn’t even be able to file a lawsuit for copyright infringement.
Jack: None of you chumps, bar Bentley, is original. So many feisty dames that they all seem the same: tame. Ex-jailbirds and loons flock to NGW just to lay an egg. Countless sob stories about sad saps overcoming broke and broken pasts. Boo hoo your parents didn’t know how to raise, so you decided not to stay. Nobody cares if you beat the odds to get this gig - they just care who you beat now that you are here.
Each performer that Jack passes tries to stand out from the masses. Some go with the less is more strategy for costumes - if they involve enough fabric to even qualify as a costume. A chubby old man in a diaper ambles about with a cup taped to his backside. Written in sharpie on the side of the cup is ‘Just the Tip’. Not far away a wrinkled old couple wear matching G-Strings, and nothing else, offering hugs for a dollar. Other costumes involve prosthetic breasts and genitals - some expose so much skin that odds are the NGW censors will use a heavy hand before this reaches the airwaves. Tourists noticeably pick up the pace as they walk by this throng of thongs. A few faces look shocked, but most are just red from embarrassment - for the performers.
Jack: Everyone here pushes the envelope, but nobody raises the bar. You palookas pretend to be entertaining by settling for four letter words and topics that would make a whole brothel blush. And McCollum you may be the worst of the bunch.
Staggering toward them appears some sort of giant abomination - bumbling on elongated stilts this act probably tops out over seven feet tall. The man controlling the operation is draped in all Black Cloth and chains; a trail of white bones traveling up its spine. It looks like it escaped from a Cirque de Soleil nightmare...or hamper. The face of this monstrosity is a white mask that combines the features of a man and beast. Sheepishly passer-bys divert their eyes - not out of fear but to avoid the obligation of paying the performer any money or attention.
Jack: Jokers like you McCollum get me steamed. Going around pretending to be some gothic goon; acting like you escape consequence. Doling out diatribes about concubines, arson, and torture. Nobody buys it joker; not even the dull dolts at home.Everyone knows if you actually pulled half the stunts you claim, Nevada would have given you the chair ages ago. So McCollum, I am calling out you and that furry Mason on your bluff. You claim to be some Big Nasty, but from what I see you are more Little Boy Peep.
A group of tourists gasp as the Terror towers over them, even as they know this costumed actor poses no real threat. After the initial shock they laugh and snap pictures as it plods along. Jack continues forward, the paths of man and monster about to cross.
Jack: Now I already hit on your less than illustrious track record of top ten rankings. So let us circle back to how you became the unlucky sucker who crossed paths with me. From what I gather McCollum you got eighty-sixed’ by Management at your last joint on account of harassing some babydoll on social media.
Shaking his head in disbelief he takes a moment to let that sink in before stopping underneath an overpass, waiting for the stilted giant to come to him.
Jack: So let me get this straight; You are the type of remorseless joker who berates women online? Draws up conspiracies to blame others when you bust? Gets his rocks off to other people’s misery? Doesn’t sound like a Soul Slayer to me. Want to know what I bet that makes you instead?
The costumed beast goes right on by without so much as a second glance from Jack. Instead Diamond nods his head to the right, his eyes looking down and off camera. Taking the hint our view pans from the terrifying thespian they passed earlier toward a far more diminutive panhandler. The performer rests in the shade of the footbridge above them. He is covered head to toe in body paint that gives his skin a pebbly plastic texture. Above his buddha belly rests an adhesive piece of shiny plastic that looks like a ruby. His face, a real ugly mug, is dolled up with a bulbous nose and giant sheepish cartoon eyes. Jutting off his scalp is tall green wig, the unkempt hair sticking several feet into the air.
Jack: A Troll. That is what it makes you McCollum, a Troll.
He looks back at the green-haired street performer and can’t help but snicker at the ridiculous getup as he begins walking away.
Jack: On the nose for sure, but imitation banks on accuracy. Slick you are a little man impersonating a monster, hiding behind dark clothes and darker imagery - and based on your last pink slip, a twitter account. But there will be no hiding during the Battle Royale. I’ll force your hand and reveal to the world….or at least the ones who tune into a dark match….that you only pretend to be a wrestler. That you only imitate competition. See, I’m a cinch to take the pot. The only real bet worth taking is the over-under on whether I send you over or under the ropes.
The next impersonator sparkles in a glittery getup. His face is covered with ghostly white makeup and he wears one glove of the same color, channeling his inner Michael Jackson.
Jack: McCollum you ain’t Bad, and you certainly ain’t anything special. Your comebacks, I have dealt with the same jazz since I started in this business. Still wager you write the rules for this match? What is the first thing you did after finding out I was in the Battle Royale? Like so many suckers before you, you grabbed a deck of cards and tried intimidating by imitating me.
Trying to emulate the Prince of Pop, he walks backward awkwardly, feigning the moonwalk to the best of his ability.
Jack: Slick - you are literally playing my game.
Turning toward the flailing performance Jack sighs
Jack: And not well to boot. What was it you said? After the whole bit where you showed a complete lack of knowledge for poker. And quoted a poet, doubling down on my point you can’t draw up anything original to say. You said that I walk around like I’m holding a Royal Flush, right? But that all you see is my pocket deuces?
Fake MJ does a spin and grabs his crotch. The camera zooms in
Jack: Well thank you for noticing my pair
Rotating our view back to Jack’s face
Jack: But I’m up here. Something I’ll be saying to you Saturday as you gaze up at me from outside the ring. At the end of the day McCollum there is nothing Thrilling about you - just another face in the deck, unoriginal and uninspiring. But me, I’m a Wild Card. And the world will be reintroduced to Jack Diamond - a One of a Kind.
Diamond stops in front of yet another Elvis impersonator, even more rotund than the first. They also wear the same cheap Halloween version of the bedazzled jumpsuit. Diamond walks up and throws a wad of cash in his guitar case before whispering in his ear. Elvis nods and Jack keeps walking, turning the corner and disappearing from the scene as phony performer starts crooning a new upbeat song.
Fake Elvis #2: ‘A little less conversation, a little more action please’
The scene fades out as a few more bars of the song continue.
‘All this aggravation ain’t satisfactioning me….’
Off Camera
It is now night in the City of Sin, though with how bright the lights glow you could hardly tell the sun disappeared. Jack and Dirk, along with the impersonator, stand in front of an unmarked door - the only feature in an otherwise brick wall. A fourth man, standing taller than the rest, blocks the ingress.
Dirk: Jack, can you tell this giant mountain of assholes to set aside - it is 8:30 I should be blackout drunk on free scotch by now.
Jack: Robbie, you couldn’t cut my friend a little slack.
The bouncer looks apologetically at Jack for the transgression.
Robbie the Bouncer: Sorry Mr. Diamond, couldn’t be sure he actually knew you. It is good to see you again. Our new chef looks forward to finally meeting you,
Looking at Dirk without a hint of apology
Bouncer: And your guest.
The bouncer opens the door to a dimly lit wood-laden hallway. Diamond and Bentley step through the frame, but not quite out of our frame of view . As Alfani Jack tries following suit the bouncer quickly extends an arm, separating Dirk and Jack from the pretender.
Bouncer: No chance kid, move along.
Gathering all his courage the performer tiptoes to see over the bouncer’s forearm and squeaks out
Impersonator: Ummmm Mr. Bentley, what about my pay? I mean we didn’t end up doing a promo, but you know it still cost me cab fare to get out here. Plus my step-dad said I can only borrow his suit if I paid to get it dry cleaned after.
Bentley ignores him but Jack stops in his track and looks over his shoulder with a grin.
Jack: You heard the kid Dirk. Pay him what he deserves
Now Bentley turns around and makes eye contact with Jack. The grin becomes infectious, spreading to Dirk’s face.
Dirk: Jack, I think you may be right.
As Dirk struts toward the actor he puts his hands to the side like he is looking for his wallet. The fake Jack beams, proud that he stood up for himself. That is until he is laid out by Southern Comfort. Dirk cackles at the sight of the crumpled performer. He wipes the heel of his boot and meets back up with Diamond.
Jack: Glad you cut him loose Dirk. Now we can properly catch up - first things first a little bird told me Summer O’Reilly is back in the picture. What’s the deal with you two?
Dirk: F#$@#$ S#$@#@ D#$#@$@#
Dusk settles in over the Sunset Strip. Before us stands Jack Diamond wearing an impeccable Armani suit and impatient look on his face. Looming behind him is the Bellagio hotel. Its iconic fountain erupts to ‘Oohs’ and ‘Aaahs’ of passing tourists. Jack pays no attention though, his eyes checking his Rolex - seemingly not for the first time.
Jack: Figures the Cowboy would be late. (Mumbling) Should have told him high noon.
All walks of life pass by as Jack taps a patent leather shoe against the sidewalk. From well-dressed whales to chumps in flip flops and cargo shorts, they form a faceless mass. A commotion can be heard from the crowd as a man standing head, shoulders, and ten gallon hat, above the rest can be seen pushing through a throng of foreign visitors.
Dirk: Christ could you all move any slower!? Pretend like Godzilla is chasing you or something!
The tourists look back at Dirk and shout, likely profanity, in a different tongue
Jack: Yea, I’m wagering they weren’t Japanese.
Dirk: So? Don’t matter where they from, they’d still haul ass if Godzilla was on their heels.
They both laugh and shake hands
Dirk: Good to see you again Jacky-boy.
Jack: Been a long time Bentley, and I’ll take the hit for that. Got caught up with all the hustle and bustle in Southeast Asia - some real sweet deals to be made with their booming gambling scene.
He puts a hand on Dirk’s shoulder and nods approvingly
Jack: From the looks of it though you been doing well for yourself too slick. How long since I last saw you? I bet it has been at least a year.
Dirk: (evasively) Yeaaa, yea something like that.
Looking over Jack’s shoulder Dirk notices a cameraman
Dirk: The shit is with the camera, is it on? You didn’t become one of those Kardashians filming your every conversation and bowel movement did you?
Jack: This sucker, no we ain’t rolling. Thought about working a promo before you got here, but decided to wait until I got something worthwhile to play off.
Dirk: (a little less tense) Yea he’s gonna be waiting with his thumb up his ass for at least another week then - you may not even have anyone in the ring for your match at this rate. Not that mine will be much tougher, beating the snot out of that little bitch Grimes is something I could do in my sleep.
Jack: True, you got that one in the bag. Enough about that business though, let’s hoof it over to Golden Steer and catch up over some food - they sport the best steak in Vegas. You’ll dig it, has a Wild West vibe. Plus it’s my treat for going off the grid.
Dirk and Jack turn to walk toward their meal when suddenly a young man runs up to Bentley huffing and puffing. He looks familiar. In fact there is a slight resemblance to Diamond as he also dons a pinstripe suit and slicked back hair. But that is where the similarities end. His suit, unlike with Jack, is ill-fitting. The sleeves dangle well past his thin wrists. A crumpled pocket square looks more like a used tissue in the breast pocket. Meanwhile the slacks break way too high, revealing athletic socks. As sharp as Jack Diamond makes his threads look, this cat does the opposite.
Young man: Mr. Bentley so glad I found you! Sorry I’m late! I swore you said meet at the Diamond Club, but guess my mom must have taken the message down wrong. Aggggainnnn.
The kid lacks any composure, his movements quick and excited as he turns toward the Bellagio waterworks.
Young man: Ah bro great job picking a scene, right in front of the fountains. This is gonna be so epic, better than another vignette at that dusty old Diamond club.
Dirk tries to interrupt this kid, but he keeps burying himself deeper as now he pivots toward the cameraman
Young man: Hey so where you gonna be shooting from - am I coming from stage right or you opening with both of us already in frame?
Dirk: Hey, can you shut the f*ck up?
Jack: Alright Bentley, what’s the deal with the chump?
Before Dirk can explain the young man responds, an octave higher than before.
Young Man: Oh. My. God. OMG. You, you are the real….the real Jack Diamond!
He quickly reaches out a soft hand toward Jack, who only reacts by narrowing his eyes into a glare. The young man is too in the moment to even notice.
Young man: I’m such a huge fan, I’ve really practiced trying to get your impersonation perfect. Spent hours in front of the mirror working your mannerisms. Even went over to my old man’s house and borrowed some DVDs from your CFW days he has in his collection. Watched every one trying to learn your cadence. Here, here watch!
The impersonator fumbles with his jacket pocket to pull out a pair of plastic-rimmed shades. He puts them on, hands trembling. Then he rips them off and gives his best intimidating stare -
Impersonator: I’m the king in this deck of jokers!
Dirk groans and facepalms
Dirk: For shit’s sake…
The impersonator holds his position like a statue, as if waiting for approval to free him. Jack also stands motionless, his icy gaze locked on his discrepant doppelganger, as he addresses Dirk...
Jack: You owe me an explanation slick….
He looks the performer up and down
Jack: That ain’t Armani is it?
Still holding his pose though starting to shake a little
Impersonator: Alfani actually; my stepdad got it on sale at Macy's...
Diamond does not break his stare
Jack:...and Dirk, it better be good
Dirk: First, I don’t owe you shit. You went ghost for well over a year while in Asia; doing business ventures or blowing Filipino trannies, or whatever it is you were doing.
Trying not to lose his cool Dirk exhales and starts again
Dirk: Look, I have done well for myself since you were gone. Really well; God would have to borrow money from me rich. But the snobs and brown-nosing pricks that run this town? They take one look at me and suddenly (in a demeaning posh accent that still keeps its redneck twang) “I’m sorry sir we don’t have any tables available”. Or “I don’t see your name on the list”. It’s bull, they never pulled that shit when you were in town - you had the reputation with these elitists. So I figured I could put some lipstick on a hog and sell him off as you to these rope guarding punks. Sure enough they bought it - I walk up with Jack Diamond-Lite over here and suddenly they put on the f*cking Ritz. Face it Jack-O, you would have done the same.
Diamond looks away from Fake Jack toward Dirk, his demeanor softening slightly.
Jack: Couldn’t have plopped down a few more bucks to get someone that looks the part?
The actor finally breaks his pose, shocked at Jack’s disapproval
Impersonator: Whoa I think I’m pulling this off pretty well; Slick!
Diamond raises an index finger to hush the performer. Dirk raises a different finger, also a sign for the kid to shut up.
Dirk: Well, you ain't as pretty as you like to think you are Jacky boy. But the key was working the right camera angles, keeping him just far enough away….
He turns and glares at the impersonator
Dirk: And keeping his mouth shut.
Jack: Must take a lot of smoke and mirrors though to make this joker look like me….
Thinking pensively for a brief moment
Jack: Though not like I spend time fraternizing with the help at the Diamond club. Bet most have no idea what I even look like.
The daggers disappear from Diamond’s eyes, his stoic poker face breaking as he chuckles.
Jack: Well played Dirk, gotta admit you pulled quite the fast one.
Dirk: Damn right I did - so we ain’t gonna have any trouble?
Jack: Not at all man, we’re straight. Actually it gives me an idea.
Snapping at the camera man
Jack: Get ready to roll. I am gonna pull out a promo after all. Dirk, feel free to head over to Golden Steer - get started on some scotch. This won’t take long at all.
On Camera:
Our screen is enveloped in a light blue. The color oscillates rhythmically, and we hear muffled music. Tilting up the shot introduces some white; eventually replacing the blue entirely. Bedazzled gold accents accompany the cream-colored sea, which continues to move melodically. In the background the music is becoming more clear, a somber tempo, along with the lyrics:
: “Baby if I made you mad”
Zooming out allows us to identify the origin of the scene’s colors; and the music. In front of us is the King - not of this deck of jokers - but of Rock and Roll. Well, at least the man in front of us looks vaguely similar to Elvis Presley. This croonin’ cat ate far more peanut butter and banana sandwiches than the iconic white jumpsuit can comfortably contain. He sways, pivoting his blue suede shoes.
Fake Elvis: “For something I might have said’
Elvis does not stand a stage; instead he gyrates and sings on a sidewalk in front of McDonald’s. The throngs of adoring fans the original Presley serenaded is instead a handful of semi-interested tourists and far more pedestrians walking right along.
Fake Elvis: “Please, let’s forget the past”
Among the handful catching the ‘show’ is none other than Jack Diamond.
Fake Elvis: “The future looks bright ahead”
He makes eye contact with the camera and nods his head to the left and begins walking away, signaling the camera to follow suit. Panning around the crowd, Jack is now the focus of the shot
Fake Elvis: “Don’t be cruel….”
The music fades away. A panorama shows that Elvis is not the only act in town. Up and down the Strip are an assortment of characters - side shows looking for loose change from disinterested pedestrians. Briefly into our stroll a Mime appears on camera. Dressed in all black and white, from the striped shirt to the suspenders and makeup, he does a classic ‘stuck in a box’ schtick. The only thing quieter than the Mime’s performance is the reaction as people walk around him.
Jack: Let us deal with Mr. Mic Strong first. The former commentator without a voice. What does this joker have to offer that he hasn’t already said himself - nothing.
When Diamond passes by, the Mime goes for another classic - the invisible lasso - to wrangle him back over. But Jack is in no mood to be roped back in for even a second.
Jack: These street performers remind me of the saps and suckers signed up for NGW. A deck full of impersonators and imposters; nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Over half a decade and it is like I never left. You jokers are still playing the same tired cards, dealing in the same cliches, and shuffling out the same gimmicks.
Walking along, our camera spotting a Spartan look-a-like from the movie ‘300’ sporting a keg instead of a six pack. He takes selfies with a less than enthused bachelorette party. Several coordinated performers are dressed as Marvel superheroes; their costumes so poor that Disney wouldn’t even be able to file a lawsuit for copyright infringement.
Jack: None of you chumps, bar Bentley, is original. So many feisty dames that they all seem the same: tame. Ex-jailbirds and loons flock to NGW just to lay an egg. Countless sob stories about sad saps overcoming broke and broken pasts. Boo hoo your parents didn’t know how to raise, so you decided not to stay. Nobody cares if you beat the odds to get this gig - they just care who you beat now that you are here.
Each performer that Jack passes tries to stand out from the masses. Some go with the less is more strategy for costumes - if they involve enough fabric to even qualify as a costume. A chubby old man in a diaper ambles about with a cup taped to his backside. Written in sharpie on the side of the cup is ‘Just the Tip’. Not far away a wrinkled old couple wear matching G-Strings, and nothing else, offering hugs for a dollar. Other costumes involve prosthetic breasts and genitals - some expose so much skin that odds are the NGW censors will use a heavy hand before this reaches the airwaves. Tourists noticeably pick up the pace as they walk by this throng of thongs. A few faces look shocked, but most are just red from embarrassment - for the performers.
Jack: Everyone here pushes the envelope, but nobody raises the bar. You palookas pretend to be entertaining by settling for four letter words and topics that would make a whole brothel blush. And McCollum you may be the worst of the bunch.
Staggering toward them appears some sort of giant abomination - bumbling on elongated stilts this act probably tops out over seven feet tall. The man controlling the operation is draped in all Black Cloth and chains; a trail of white bones traveling up its spine. It looks like it escaped from a Cirque de Soleil nightmare...or hamper. The face of this monstrosity is a white mask that combines the features of a man and beast. Sheepishly passer-bys divert their eyes - not out of fear but to avoid the obligation of paying the performer any money or attention.
Jack: Jokers like you McCollum get me steamed. Going around pretending to be some gothic goon; acting like you escape consequence. Doling out diatribes about concubines, arson, and torture. Nobody buys it joker; not even the dull dolts at home.Everyone knows if you actually pulled half the stunts you claim, Nevada would have given you the chair ages ago. So McCollum, I am calling out you and that furry Mason on your bluff. You claim to be some Big Nasty, but from what I see you are more Little Boy Peep.
A group of tourists gasp as the Terror towers over them, even as they know this costumed actor poses no real threat. After the initial shock they laugh and snap pictures as it plods along. Jack continues forward, the paths of man and monster about to cross.
Jack: Now I already hit on your less than illustrious track record of top ten rankings. So let us circle back to how you became the unlucky sucker who crossed paths with me. From what I gather McCollum you got eighty-sixed’ by Management at your last joint on account of harassing some babydoll on social media.
Shaking his head in disbelief he takes a moment to let that sink in before stopping underneath an overpass, waiting for the stilted giant to come to him.
Jack: So let me get this straight; You are the type of remorseless joker who berates women online? Draws up conspiracies to blame others when you bust? Gets his rocks off to other people’s misery? Doesn’t sound like a Soul Slayer to me. Want to know what I bet that makes you instead?
The costumed beast goes right on by without so much as a second glance from Jack. Instead Diamond nods his head to the right, his eyes looking down and off camera. Taking the hint our view pans from the terrifying thespian they passed earlier toward a far more diminutive panhandler. The performer rests in the shade of the footbridge above them. He is covered head to toe in body paint that gives his skin a pebbly plastic texture. Above his buddha belly rests an adhesive piece of shiny plastic that looks like a ruby. His face, a real ugly mug, is dolled up with a bulbous nose and giant sheepish cartoon eyes. Jutting off his scalp is tall green wig, the unkempt hair sticking several feet into the air.
Jack: A Troll. That is what it makes you McCollum, a Troll.
He looks back at the green-haired street performer and can’t help but snicker at the ridiculous getup as he begins walking away.
Jack: On the nose for sure, but imitation banks on accuracy. Slick you are a little man impersonating a monster, hiding behind dark clothes and darker imagery - and based on your last pink slip, a twitter account. But there will be no hiding during the Battle Royale. I’ll force your hand and reveal to the world….or at least the ones who tune into a dark match….that you only pretend to be a wrestler. That you only imitate competition. See, I’m a cinch to take the pot. The only real bet worth taking is the over-under on whether I send you over or under the ropes.
The next impersonator sparkles in a glittery getup. His face is covered with ghostly white makeup and he wears one glove of the same color, channeling his inner Michael Jackson.
Jack: McCollum you ain’t Bad, and you certainly ain’t anything special. Your comebacks, I have dealt with the same jazz since I started in this business. Still wager you write the rules for this match? What is the first thing you did after finding out I was in the Battle Royale? Like so many suckers before you, you grabbed a deck of cards and tried intimidating by imitating me.
Trying to emulate the Prince of Pop, he walks backward awkwardly, feigning the moonwalk to the best of his ability.
Jack: Slick - you are literally playing my game.
Turning toward the flailing performance Jack sighs
Jack: And not well to boot. What was it you said? After the whole bit where you showed a complete lack of knowledge for poker. And quoted a poet, doubling down on my point you can’t draw up anything original to say. You said that I walk around like I’m holding a Royal Flush, right? But that all you see is my pocket deuces?
Fake MJ does a spin and grabs his crotch. The camera zooms in
Jack: Well thank you for noticing my pair
Rotating our view back to Jack’s face
Jack: But I’m up here. Something I’ll be saying to you Saturday as you gaze up at me from outside the ring. At the end of the day McCollum there is nothing Thrilling about you - just another face in the deck, unoriginal and uninspiring. But me, I’m a Wild Card. And the world will be reintroduced to Jack Diamond - a One of a Kind.
Diamond stops in front of yet another Elvis impersonator, even more rotund than the first. They also wear the same cheap Halloween version of the bedazzled jumpsuit. Diamond walks up and throws a wad of cash in his guitar case before whispering in his ear. Elvis nods and Jack keeps walking, turning the corner and disappearing from the scene as phony performer starts crooning a new upbeat song.
Fake Elvis #2: ‘A little less conversation, a little more action please’
The scene fades out as a few more bars of the song continue.
‘All this aggravation ain’t satisfactioning me….’
Off Camera
It is now night in the City of Sin, though with how bright the lights glow you could hardly tell the sun disappeared. Jack and Dirk, along with the impersonator, stand in front of an unmarked door - the only feature in an otherwise brick wall. A fourth man, standing taller than the rest, blocks the ingress.
Dirk: Jack, can you tell this giant mountain of assholes to set aside - it is 8:30 I should be blackout drunk on free scotch by now.
Jack: Robbie, you couldn’t cut my friend a little slack.
The bouncer looks apologetically at Jack for the transgression.
Robbie the Bouncer: Sorry Mr. Diamond, couldn’t be sure he actually knew you. It is good to see you again. Our new chef looks forward to finally meeting you,
Looking at Dirk without a hint of apology
Bouncer: And your guest.
The bouncer opens the door to a dimly lit wood-laden hallway. Diamond and Bentley step through the frame, but not quite out of our frame of view . As Alfani Jack tries following suit the bouncer quickly extends an arm, separating Dirk and Jack from the pretender.
Bouncer: No chance kid, move along.
Gathering all his courage the performer tiptoes to see over the bouncer’s forearm and squeaks out
Impersonator: Ummmm Mr. Bentley, what about my pay? I mean we didn’t end up doing a promo, but you know it still cost me cab fare to get out here. Plus my step-dad said I can only borrow his suit if I paid to get it dry cleaned after.
Bentley ignores him but Jack stops in his track and looks over his shoulder with a grin.
Jack: You heard the kid Dirk. Pay him what he deserves
Now Bentley turns around and makes eye contact with Jack. The grin becomes infectious, spreading to Dirk’s face.
Dirk: Jack, I think you may be right.
As Dirk struts toward the actor he puts his hands to the side like he is looking for his wallet. The fake Jack beams, proud that he stood up for himself. That is until he is laid out by Southern Comfort. Dirk cackles at the sight of the crumpled performer. He wipes the heel of his boot and meets back up with Diamond.
Jack: Glad you cut him loose Dirk. Now we can properly catch up - first things first a little bird told me Summer O’Reilly is back in the picture. What’s the deal with you two?
Dirk: F#$@#$ S#$@#@ D#$#@$@#