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Footprints in the Sand; Haywood Jublome defeats SmirtDogg at the OSC Tournament
Topic Started: Jan 1 2016, 01:54 AM (89 Views)

John Solley and I clashed on I believe 4 occasions, one in which was the NWW Career vs. Career Match that he bested me in and we've mentioned in roleplays thusfar. The other time Haywood Jublome defeated SmirtDogg is in the tournament from a few years ago which included one of my best promos, if not best to date in capturing the character. John's RPs for the match were vicious and lethal. Any ways, here's 1 of my roleplays from that encounter.

*Fade in on a narrow shot of the greatest wrestler this circuit ever produced, "God's Gift to Wrestling", SmirtDogg. Staring directly at us sans his patented midnight black sunglasses, his hypnotic emerald eyes drawing us in. Commanding our undivided attention as our charismatic hero graces us with his presence from what appears to be the confines of a prison cell. Seated on a wooden stool with his hands clasped, fingers interlocked and a steely, determined expression on his visage - Smirt entrances us amid the all too familiar surroundings of his upcoming opponent's most recent past (and future)*

God's Gift to Wrestling" SmirtDogg: Power. *narrowing his eyes* I have it. You don't. Understand this, Haywood, you've got to ask yourself the following question "Is blood truly thicker than water?" and if the answer is yes then follow that up with "Do I consider you more of a brother than I did Marcus or are you just my broth-a?"

It's a pretty huge f*cking distinction, one that could land you right back here if it doesn't go your way. *Smirt spreads his arms out, camera angle widens capturing the complete dingy-ness of the environment*

Am I my brother's keeper? If so, which one? Do I look to avenge or do I continue to lift you up, like I have always done - which has seemed to gone way over your coconut-shaped dome. Evidenced by your desperate feelings of abandonment expressed in this oh, so poetic plaque on the wall. *Smirt leaps off the stool, thrusting it across the cell with an emphatic kick* Tell me, 'Wood, are you truly that blind not to see the rays of a thousand suns glaring in your ugly mug; one only your mama could love? I mean, I appreciate the high pedestal you put me on and all, deservingly so I might add. But the doubt *Smirt's emerald eyes engulf with a fire. One that if you were to look closely enough, you'd swear his pupils were literally transforming to a crimson hue* The DOUBT makes me want to lock your bitch ass up once again - watch you rot right here for the rest of your miserable days while forever throwing away the motherf*cking key. Your lack of faith alone merits that punishment. Just look *Smirt sneers* just look at this pitiful plea of yours.

*For the first time the camera pans away from Smirt and instead focuses on the concrete wall opposite what was once Haywood's "cushy" cot. It is here that we notice the plaque Smirt has been referring to. Zooming in we're able to distinguish the object as the well-known "Footprints in the Sand" poem, of course, with Haywood Jublomes' personal adaptation to it. Enjoy, from the mind of the n*gga you love to hate, himself*

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.

Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.

Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,

other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed

that during the low periods of my life,

when I was suffering from

anguish, sorrow or defeat,

I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,

“You promised me <strike>Lord</strike> SMIRTDOGG,

that if I followed you,

you would walk with me always.

But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life

there have only been one set of footprints in the sand.

Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?”

*Smirt rips the plaque from off the wall, shaking his head. Flinging the object like one would a frisbee, it reverberates against the bars treating us to the sweet harmonic sounds of what comprised Haywood Jublome's existence for 8 long, tedious, monotonous years. However, more importantly upon impact the plaque forms a chasm; splitting straight down the middle. A great divide - symbolic of what's occurring here?*

"God's Gift to Wrestling" SmirtDogg:
Since you've decided to take your prison issued Crayola black crayon to block out the final verse, I'll take it from here. Aight? *Smirt cockily tilts his head and smirks*

“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand is when I CARRIED you.

And it has always been that way, hasn't it Haywood? From the very beginning when it was moi, Smirt-D-O-Double G whom gave you your initial taste of glory. Your first shot at prime time. Before I picked you out, the little ragged runt of the litter and decided to give you the World Title Shot for my EWA Heavyweight Championship, you weren't even known by the most hardcore fan out there. You were as anonymous as one of the roadies whom would set up MY f*cking wrestling ring every night. Wait, come to think of it you were on that work detail, weren't you? Or was that you manning the souvenir stand with the foam finger stuck up your ass?!? Come to think of it, I really don't want to know that nor do I wish to learn the genesis of your pro-wrestling persona, Haywood Jublome, which I highly suspect is a carry over from your days in the gay porn industry. But that is research I'm not about to do nor am I interested in. They say what "Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas." But in your case, the hometown slogan would be "When we say NUNYA BIDNESS, we damn well mean it's NUNYA BIDNESS." *Smirt shutters; a repulsed expression on his visage*

Hay-wood. Ju-blo-me. *shakes head with a "Get Real" chuckle for emphasis* Lets just pretend this is The Big Bang Theory or more appropriately for you it seems - Will & Grace and just cue the f*cking laugh track. To think how glorious and amazing, I, "God's Gift to Wrestling", must be to spin your wrestling being - the epitome of the punch line to every joke imaginable - spinning that one giant gob of gunk into pure Grade A top of the line GOLD! That just didn't require a little bit of carrying; it required an Herculean effort on the level of Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Yeah, yeah as if you even had to ask: I am that f*cking good.

I'm SmirtDogg, beyotch!

And you, Haywood, you're quite simply - NOT.

*As Smirt pauses for a moment, something catches his eye on the adjacent wall to the commode. Camera closes in on it for inspection; as it comes into focus we could swear we're looking at Egyptian hieroglyphics or the doodling communication of primitive man. Which come to think of it, would fit Haywood Jublome like a hand and glove. But no, lined up and down the concrete slab and broken down into sets of 5 are the etchings of a caged man - counting down his days until freedom. He may have to reset that counter, as you will find out later.*

"God's Gift to Wrestling" SmirtDogg: Ah, the sweet passage of time. You know, Haywood, that's what has always been interesting about our dynamic. You could line these walls up, down, all around with the markings of days passed while singing Lionel Richie's "Oh, What a Feeling? When I'm dancing on the ceiling!" and you would never even come close to fighting both the duality of perception and reality in everyone's eyes. A ranking that reads as follows:

#1. SmirtDogg.
#2. Haywood Jublome.

Now there's nothing wrong with second place. You get a nice f*cking yellow ribbon, which you can pin right next to your 'Hello, I'm Haywood Jublome' tag to help identify you to everyone around here - whom may not have remembered you from the first go around. *Smirt chuckles* Alright - I'm not very good at this but you want a compliment. The Dogg will throw you a bone. I respect you, Haywood. I'm speaking to you right now, without my shades, eye to eye because you're damn near my equal. This is something I've never done before, probably will never do again. If I'm way up here *Smirt stretches his right arm upward towards the heavens* then you'd be here. *lowering his arm ever so slightly* What about the rest of our old stomping grounds, the cast of millions whom made up our circuit? I think a simple demonstration will do just fine. *Smirt reaches down and flushes the toilet; the water swirling is captured with an extreme closeup* And don't even get me started on this pathetic SHOOT Project, which has wormed its way into OUR f*cking reunion. I can't even demonstrate how low that place ranks cuz you'd need an abyss miles and miles deep like the Mariana Trench to illustrate.

*Smirt pauses momentarily, producing a Sharpie from out of the right side pocket of his black windbreakers. Following the trail of etchings, which line the walls like tin soldiers - our MC of this epic promo event locates the tail end of it and proceeds to tack on the following: + ? *

*Twirling the Sharpie in his right hand like a baton; a Cheshire cat grin comes over his face. Imagine if Sylvester ever devoured Tweety Bird. Picture that.*

"God's Gift to Wrestling" SmirtDogg:
To quote a rhyme from back in the day, prior to your incarceration, so I can be certain you know what I'm hitting at. Haywood - I'm "holding your fate in the palm of my hand. Blow you away like its part of the plan." *Smirt lets out the following dramatic effect vocally while using his hands to further illustrate the point* BOOM!

Remember it was I who pulled the strings to get you out of here and just like that *Smirt snaps his finger* I can cut that string and watch you plummet to your demise otherwise known as boomeranging your black ass right back here. Why would I do that? Cuz I'm cool like dat? I definitely am but that's not it. The real reason is you've put me in quite the predicament. When you pumped those slugs into Marcus's chest and turned his body cold so that it may be used as an extra on a slab at the morgue on the next episode of CSI - it was both a 'gift' and a 'curse' for me. On one hand, you did me a favor for although our DNA matched he had long stopped being a brother to me and was more trouble than he was worth. But on the other hand, Brenda just about went and disowned me. You see *Smirt Chesire cat grin has long since faded; he's deadly fucking serious now* 'Brenda had a baby' to borrow from 'Pac and that baby was moi - Kelvin Hailey.

It seems you've been crossed off her Christmas Card list as Mama didn't take too kindly to seeing her favorite son, might I add, murdered in cold blood. And me, well, I've been put on notice. I've got to choose between you and her. Once I make the decision there's no going back. On one side is the woman whom gave birth and loved me for all these years. A mother/son connection is like none other. Am I prepared to give that up? And then there's the other side, you, Haywood. My best friend in this business and more of a brother to me than that sadistic f*ck ever was. So I suppose I've shed some light on the situation. I'm certainly not out to avenge. But it's still all about the blood. Am I prepared to sever the Hailey bloodline entirely and walk away from my Mama - from Brenda forever in favor of the kindred spirit bloodline that you and I share as Ghetto Warriors?

*Just saying those two words: "Ghetto Warriors" brings back a torrent of memories to SmirtDogg; so overpowering that he has to steady himself on the edge of the cot. Seated now, his striking emerald eyes pool with emotion, to the level that believe it or not we hadn't seen out of Smirt before - which is saying an UNBELIEVABLE lot*

"God's Gift to Wrestling" SmirtDogg: The Ghetto Warriors. *Smirt's eyes soften; this is the most vulnerable he has ever been in front of the camera lens* That's a bond I thought would forever be unbreakable and it might still prove to be. Even then I carried the burden of looking out for you like I've always done in our professional relationship. I took all the slings, arrows and whatever else our adversaries were coming with, whether verbally or physically. I absorbed it and at times felt like I was the modern day version of the Stigmata. My hands and feet were punctured, bleeding out and I didn't give a f*ck. Most people would say I'm an assh*le; they didn't know the true me. You did and do. I laid it all out on the line for you and broke through the front lines of every opposing stable paving the way for you to plow forward. Haywood, I took you under my wing and with my live cover you were able to develop and with God, I mean, me as my own witness I swear if there was a mirror in this cell right now I'd see your image looking right back at me. We're this *Smirt places his left thumb and index finger a mere inch apart* close to being identical spitting images. The burning fire, the intensity - the never say die mentality you took from me and ran with it. I'm laying it right out there like I've never done before. There's only 1 loss. 1 solitary loss in all of my Hall of Fame career that I was ever content in my heart about. Do you know what one that is? I'll give you a hint. It was the night you came of age. *Smirt lights up for an instant as his mind flashes back to that point in time*

It was the night that you defeated me in a Title vs. Title, Career vs. Career Match, one of our circuit's best if not greatest ever, denying me another World Heavyweight Championship while booting me from the NWW in the process. I had just been removed from the wrestling federation and inside I felt an emotion I had never encountered before in a loss: joy.

On that evening of August 29th, 1999 you officially arrived and took your place beside me at the pantheon of professional wrestling. The apprentice beat the master. My job was complete. You'd go on to a highly distinguishable career, even if it never quite measured up to my resume. Cuz lets face it as great as you are and as great as the accomplishments you've amassed - no matter how hard you tried there were and are two things you've failed to manage that I have since Day 1.

The first being that my name is on the lips of every other wrestler, in every single promo they cut. Check it out, even now in this tournament a damn near f*cking decade later that fact holds true. And the other thing is I've always had posers such as Sean Sanders running around wanting to be me - emulating my every wrestling move - my every catchphrase hoping that some of my charisma would wear off on them. And that, Haywood, is the where the slight differential lies between you and myself. Not to mention the oh so very minor detail that I will out-wrestle you in our Respect Match given that in our last encounter I was coming off paralysis and was still able to Gangsta Paradise your bitch ass onto a network of explosives in securing victory. I bet you still have the war scars from that one, huh?

You and I've been through some bloody battles, each one of them instant classics. This upcoming one at the Raymond Willmott Memorial or "The Chipmunk Tribute" as I like to refer to it as will be no different. We should just skip all the bullshit and revoke all the other wrestlers' invites because this right here will not only be the Finals of the upcoming tournament but is also the ultimate pairing to represent our rich past. Where do you go from here and how do you top it? The answer is that you don't. So this is motherf*cking it. Haywood Jublome versus SmirtDogg. The top two wrestlers of all-time. Grab the popcorn, sit back and enjoy the show.

But I have to warn you, Haywood, the definitive ending of this movie will feature you half-dead on the canvas with a barely audio "Get at me Dog" blaring in your one good ear, thanks to the other one having been caved in moments earlier with the ever so True Perfection. Then comes the alternate post scripts. My crossroads decision.

*Smirt raises up from off the cot and begins to pace as he contemplates his life altering dilemma*

"God's Gift to Wrestling" SmirtDogg: Version #1. Kelvin Hailey ceases to exist. I scrub away anything and everything Hailey leaving my brother literally and my mama metaphorically buried in the past. As another life and start anew with you, Haywood, as my new family - my soul *Smirt pounds his chest* brother in every way. Something much more f*cking potent than some DNA scientific sh*t could ever be. Together we dominate this so called competition - win whatever tournament or tournaments there is to win and then move on Shooting the f*cking Shoot Project dead. Bang, bang motherf*ckers.


Version #2: I grow weary of this burden you placed on me and decide that I've carried you far enough, that now your time has come to crawl on your knees. That losing my identity - stripping away and eroding my core is something I'm not willing to do. And then it will happen, you'll switch on a dime from the tears of a clown over losing our match to singing the Folsom Prison....I mean, San Quentin Prison Blues. There in the center of the ring the Prison Guards will swoop down upon you and drag you back here for not fulfilling the terms of your release for I shall notify the warden of your intentions of hoarding the monies earned all for yourself. You greedy bastard.

Home, sweet, home - Haywood. Will this *Camera angle widens capturing the entire width and depth of the cell* be "Home Sweet Home" for you, once again?

If only I had a sign? That's all I'm asking for is the tiniest of signs to point me in the direction of what to do.

*And then, if right on cue, a few beams of sunshine peek through a cinder block situated in the bottom left corner on the back wall of the cell. These golden rays illuminate Smirt's lower region; shining through. Approaching the source of the light, Smirt is shocked to discover the bedrock block break-away easily upon applied pressure. The one above it also gives way as Smirt pushes it inward. Before long, Smirt-D-O-Double G has created a narrow passage; one in which he can crawl on his stomach through. Expecting to find himself outside the prison walls, Smirt is once again astonished by a discovery on par with the ruins of the Titanic being located on the oceanic floor of the Atlantic Ocean*

"God's Gift to Wrestling" SmirtDogg: *mouth agape; floored* So let me get this straight, Haywood, instead of planning your escape you spent your 8 years imprisoned doing THIS?!?!?

*BIG REVEAL: Those weren't beams of sunshine, it was the sparkling gold emanating from a SHRINE and accompanying ALTAR paying tribute to Haywood Jublome's hero and personal God - SMIRTDOGG! The centerpiece is a life size poster of SmirtDogg draped in front of stained glass. A chalice - filled with Smirt's blood? - is situated on the table located in the middle of the Altar. Adjacent to this resides a podium where presumably Haywood Jublome would hold his daily readings to an audience of one: himself. There's a book resting on the lectern. It has to be the Holy Bible, right? Well, it is and it isn't. The item in question is SmirtDogg's autobiography and self-help guide "How I became Top Dogg?" To Haywood this classifies as the Holy Bible, to us it's just a really cool book. Smirt takes a couple steps back and takes it all in. He whips out his patented midnight black shades - throws 'em on and arrogantly grins like only he can before commenting*

"God's Gift to Wrestling" SmirtDogg: Suppose, there's only one thing left for me to do. I'll pray for guidance at the "ALTAR OF SMIRTDOGG!"

Our SmirtDogg, who oughta be in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
on earth as it is in heav....

*Camera fades to black as SmirtDogg seeks knowledge from a divine being: himself. AMEN.*
Edited by Smirt211, Jan 1 2016, 02:24 AM.
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Haywood Jublome

This was an awesome promo, and may just be my absolute favorite from you.

I always loved battling against you. We had some awesome matches.
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Thank you, bro. Every time you forced me into my best work because you truly can run smack talk until the end of time on any one, in any format. Scary sometimes the rolls you get on!
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I try and forget NWW for my own personal reasons.... not one of my bright spots then again neither was my RP ability back then either. Great job though.
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Thank you and I can see you've vastly improved. You've always been a good dude, worked your ass off and never stopped competing.

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Lunatikk Crippler

I still have the smirt vs Haywood match saved somewhere. I'll take a look for it and post it here later once my girls go to bed
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That would be awesome. It was a high energy, multi finishers utilized bout where Haywood kicked out of a cleanly executed True Perfection. Very rare occurrence.

The match write-up quality was superb!
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Haywood Jublome

Lunatikk Crippler
Jan 1 2016, 11:11 PM
I still have the smirt vs Haywood match saved somewhere. I'll take a look for it and post it here later once my girls go to bed
That would be awesome. Thanks, Will.
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Dan Stein
Bump. Interested in this match!
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