Post by theaccountant on May 28, 2020 21:37:29 GMT -5
(The shot opens zoomed in on a man's hands. The tips of his fingers tap at a sycronized pace on a metal Halliburton briefcase every other second. As the camera zooms out more the audience sees that it is the Accountant, sitting in a blue metal folding chair. The Accountant is wearing a black suit with a white shirt and red tie, with his black hair slicked back and spectacles hanging off his nose. The Halliburton sits across his legs, the Accountant clutching it like it is one of his only cherished possessions left on earth. In his own world, the Accountant continues the tapping for about thirty seconds before looking into the camera to speak)
"On the last Tuesday Night Titans, I had an opportunity to become the number one contender to the SFT Hardcore Championship. Now granted, I never cared for hardcore wrestling, even a former holder of that title. I find that style beneath me and what I stand for. Nevertheless, the opportunity granted to me provided the Accountant a way back up the ranks of the SFT and as a shrewd businessman, I can vouch for the fact that you never want an opportunity to go to waste. So I laced up my boots and went out there on Titans, ready to teach the newcomer Eli Martin some lessons in submission wrestling when suddenly I get jumped not once but TWICE. Jamo had to get some licks in for reasons known only to him and then when the match seemed to be turning in my favor, the good ol' boy Jack Jones had to show up and blasts me with my very own Halliburton briefcase. That blow allowed Mr. Righteous himself, Eli Martin, to triumph and become the number one contender for the Hardcore Championship, while also allowing Jones to get in a measure of revenge from several weeks ago when I announced my presence with authority by lopping off his own head with this very object. But you see, Mr. Jones has made a fatal error. Just like you never touched a man's gun in the old West, you never touch a man's prized business object. So Jack, you have committed a heavy, cardinal sin and one that you will not be able to recover from. This Tuesday night, we finally meet one-on-one and this object in my lap is going to be the centerpiece of our struggle
"Because you see Jack, the SFT brass has figured that the only way to resolve our issue where I have hit you and you have hit me is to take my Halliburton and place it on a pole that will sit about fifteen feet above one of the corners. The object of the match is to get this Halliburton and then use it on your opponent, theoretically beating them senseless and walk out with your hand raised. It is a match the likes of which the SFT has never seen before. I know I have never been a part of one. I mean, in my profession who ever has to climb up a pole? But since you are a nice country boy Jack, I am sure you are used to climbing up all kinds of things. Sheds, barns, horses, trees, cows, corn stalks...I could go on. And you might think this somehow gives you an advantage but the SFT front office has also sweetened the pot with something I want, which is that the winner of our encounter will become the number one contender to the Intercontinental Championship. I am never one to look ahead, but Mr. Apokalypse is having a good time laying waste to the likes of Louis Cypher and the other minions that have been put against him. I would like to go ahead and let him know that the best damn tax man in Washington, D.C. is prepared to give him an audit that will last him the rest of his time on earth, or whatever he conceives of it. I am sure that Apokalypse will watch our encounter, Jack, and who knows, might even want to come and watch it for fun. But with an Intercontinental title shot on the line you had better believe that I am prepared to climb a pole as high as another Jack climbed courtesy of his magic beans if that is what it takes to get to the top of the SFT.
"I love how you champion yourself Jack as some man of the people. You claim to be an early riser, saying your prayers, and then going to bed while people like myself burn the midnight oil. If that is what you call a life, go on ahead. But the good Lord is not going to save you from my wrath on Titans. You can pray starting today, right now, and get down on your knees with your family Bible that has been passed down through thirteen poor, lousy generations and you can look up to the heavens and say 'Please Lord, give me the strength to withstand the Accountant's beating. Don't let him clamp down on that Audit too hard so that I can still work my farm, ride my tractor, and speak like I have no brains in this little head of mine' but such words will not help you. If you want a preview of what is head, open up that good book and take a look at the book of Job, a man who lost everything and for whom God tested his allegiance. While I would never say that I am God, I WILL BE your God on this upcoming episode of Titans, Mr. Jones. I am going to be dishing out the pain, delivering the suffering, and granting the salvation. Except in your darkest minutes inside the squared circle, when you are face down in the canvas and look up to see that I have climbed the pole and descended with the Halliburton, I will provide no mercy. Because this very object, this shiny, metallic, top tier Halliburton case is going right through your skull. And then I will hold it proudly in the air as it drips with your blood when the ring announcer proclaims me to be the number one contender to the Intercontinental Championship."
(The Accountant takes off his spectacles with his right hand and looks fiercely into the camera)
"I AM THE BEST DAMN TAX MAN IN WASHINGTON, D.C. and just like Kenny Rogers once said, you have to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em. It will be folding time for you Jack. See you Tuesday."
(The camera suddenly goes dark right after the Accountant finishes saying his last word)
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