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Date Posted: 14:17:05 10/23/99 Sat
Author: "Smutman" Jack Leer
Subject: Caught in the act
(Jack Leer is smiling, blood stained gauze bandage over his left eye. He casually lights himself a cigarette, the light from his Bic lighter casting flickering shadows across his face as he does so. He closes his eyes and and enjoys the taste as he sucks the smoke deep into his lungs, cherry burning brightly as oxygen is pulled through the burning tobacco. With a light sigh he exhales smoke through his teeth and opens his eyes again, looking at the camera. Jack Leer's blue-grey eyes shine with a piercing mischievousness, mysterious secrets playing in the shadows therein, somewhere behind a veil of indolence.)
(Wearing a soft, inky bathrobe which shows off his hairy chest and the thin silver chain hanging around his neck, Jack Leer couldn't look more relaxed. He takes another drag on his cigarette and exhales like he has all the time in the world, thin white line of smoke floating up toward the ceiling.)
Jack Leer: Toreador, I see you've definitely been listening when Jack Leer speaks, and I'm even happier to see the way you've been working to make things happen for you here in the TTSWF. Now I know you don't want me getting anywhere near you in the ring or out, and you've made it quite clear what you are willing to do to keep me away from you. Sure, I've seen your little errand-boy Ric Anderson carrying your gym bag around and I've got to admit you are damn smart to ask him to request that contract match against me at the next pay-per-view. First of all, it means you won't be fighting me that night, which has got to be a relief on that ulcer of yours, and it means you get to hold onto that championship belt a little while longer. But if you think your little toady is going to get lucky and beat me that night, you're dead wrong, Toreador.
(Leaning over to flick ash off the end of his smoke, the camera pulls back to reveal Jack Leer is sitting on the toilet. The ashes flutter down to the sand filled toilet-side ash tray at his left, a veritable grave yard of crumpled cigarette butts, heads stuck in sand like tiny ostriches. His bare legs covered in scraggly hair, his bathrobe barely covering a naked Jack Leer underneath, he casts an easy, confident smile toward the camera's eye. On the floor at the toilet's base, under Jack's foot, sits a pile of Leer Publishing's magazines, Mercedes Melons with her massive 59 inch chest on the cover of the latest issue of "Meat and Po-Ta Tas.")
Jack Leer: You are welcome to keep throwing your little pawns in my way, but we both know that isn't going to stop me, Toreador. I'll put them all down in turn and in the end, it'll just be you and me. You may think asking Anderson to sign a contract match against me was a stroke of Spanish brilliance, but when it get's down to just you and Jack Leer in the ring you'll wish you hadn't disposed of him so quickly, you'll wish you had your little side-kick to help get you out of having to face me man to man. I came into the TTSWF to beat some respect into your foreign ass and I won't be leaving until I'm through, you can count on that Toreador.
(His eyes sparkle with nefarious amusement as Jack Leer rolls the cigarette between his fingers.)
Jack Leer: By the way Toreador, I've got something here of yours.
(Reaching over and pulling a neatly folded Spanish flag from the side of the bathtub, Jack Leer holds it high in the air next to him triumphantly like he would hold a large mouth bass or a walleyed pike posing for a trophy picture. The material unfolding it's self and handing limply at his side.)
Jack Leer (Flashing a smile): This flag represents you and everything you believe in, Toreador. And Jack Leer represents all of America and every white trash man, woman, and child that has had to listen to your Spanish garbage. Let's watch and see what will happen when these two beliefs meet and have conflict, shall we?
(With that, Jack Leer takes the flag and wipes his ass)
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