Post by Howard Bernstein on Feb 26, 2015 1:12:03 GMT -4
To Howard Bernstein GHW seemed to be the most appealing of the lot.
Sprawled across his coffee table and the carpet beneath it were a number of labeled DVDs, tapes, and USB sticks. The room had barely altered from the week prior. The three televisions were still set up across the dresser and the bed was still stationed parallel to it and the wall. Despite the small alterations, the room looked meticulous. There didn't seem to be a speck of dust in the room and although one could argue it looked cluttered, it was apparent there was a method to the madness.
Howard, however, seemed more interested in the happenings on the TVs.
Howard was pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table with his eyes transfixed on the images before him. Despite being presumably cooped up in his hotel room for the past number of days Mr. Bernstein looked as professional as ever. His typical black suit was perfectly set-up, as was his black skinny tie in a Windsor knot against his white dress shirt. It was like driving a Ferrari in downtown Oakland.
What appeared to be the most noticeable in all of the tapes across his coffee table was the eclectic selection he seemed to have. A good majority of them had masking taped labels reading everywhere from the obvious of GHW and EVPW to the more obscure and incredibly difficult to find like ASWF, SCW, and EWE, to name a few. It was only the surface. The list of closed and destroyed companies was near infinite. They were searching for a hypothetical needle in a haystack.
Where he seemed to get those from, of course, was a brilliant question.
The man in question, obviously, was on Howard's other line. Together they were searching for something horribly specific. There were hours upon days upon weeks of footage they've already ran through and there seemed to be less and less appeal as they searched. This one's charismatic but too fat. That one is athletic but “TV Ugly”. Those ones are attractive but in a heroin addict sort of way. What they were looking for was the one that broke the mold. The unimaginable.
The sound of the bell rings from the first television set-up to Howard's left. Mighty Man Millson was on his way down to the ring following Dominik Santiago getting the first pin on Hayden in their Tyrants Roulette Match. To Howard, the match was fine. Realistically at this point he could find flaws in everything. Every suplex, every chair shot, every drop kick, none were good enough. He wasn't looking for that, though. Wrestling was on the back burner.
He was looking at the people behind it all. Gimmicks, he was told, was what they were called. It was strange to him. It was like if Anthony Hopkins acted as if he was Hannibal Lecter but year round. These people were involved in the most self deprecating form of method acting.
The strongest trait he noticed was how everything was so generic in the wrestling world. It was as if there were only so many characters you could perform as and if you didn't fit one of the options you were driven out. It was fascinating. It was a business where you were told from day one you could manipulate the crowd in the palm of your hand, yet no one knew how to do it.
The crowd from the middle television were beginning to drown out to the two to either side of it. Metal Dragon of Stone Orchard, with a thumbtack chair in hand, directs Kahlan to pick up the barbed wired bat during their infamous Ultra Violent Deathmatch. This match was noteworthy for a number of reasons, especially the use of over the top explosives. It was both a productive hardcore match and a parody of death match wrestling in one nicely packed box. Stone Orchard, Howard could see, had the star power. But what else? What, exactly, did they bring to the table?
They offered more than he cared to mention, that much he knew. They could go from the roles of comedy to dramatic and serious on a dime. They knew how to deliver. There was a talent there. Remove it all, though, and they were the same as everyone else.
That, of course, wasn't exactly true. The biggest problem, Howard was fit to concede, was he saw the potential of nearly everyone across the companies. He needed to find one who was so uncomfortable in their own skin that they changed themselves everywhere they went. He needed to find someone who lacked all the confidence and brought themselves down to everyone's level. Who, was the million dollar question.
The Ryan Hughes' of the world were an interesting case. As early as his 2009 Hardcore Cell main event at Total Carnage it was evident. Although Blaine, Daniel Throne (an early prospect, one could argue), and Trickshot were also in the match it was clear to see his potential. On the third television Ryan had just missed a spear on the former CEO of GHW and was being put in the camel clutch. He was green but had all the tools one could argue they'd wanted in a professional wrestler. But only in that of a professional wrestler.
Howard Bernstein was starting to wonder if the “tools” in question were actually a weakness. They were a manufactured list of ideas that the crowd were steered toward, obviously. But what from there? What happened if you were willing to bite the hand that fed?
That, Howard considered, was going to be his golden goose. That was going to be the one he stole and turned into a multi-movie franchise star. Who was going to say no? It was odd, though. There was something missing. Something, or someone, who could really-
His representative was no slouch. For a pretty faced, athletic young man he also had a Hell of a brain on him. Howard remembered the first day he walked into his office. He was frustrated, upset, but so terribly driven. It was an interesting display. He projected it was yet another wannabe Hollywood star who was the top at what he did but couldn't cut it in the real world. Yet he possessed a certain quality that no one else did. He was a victim of circumstances, really. A man who was headstrong and determined but shoved in the basement despite-
Wait. That was it, wasn't it? It was right in front of him. His client was telling him just what he was figuring out. Howard had to go in and take the broken, the beaten, and disgraced and flip them before shoving them down EVPW's own throats. However, he didn't exactly want to make it as sour grapes against the company. Realistically he couldn't care less what happened to them. If he could take them down in the process? Call it another notch on the belt. The very person he was looking for was almost pleading for his attention.
Howard pressed the button at the side of his Bluetooth connected to his ear and stood for a second to collect his thoughts. Staring almost through the flat screen projections in front of himself, Mr. Bernstein realized he had to work his magic once again. You could argue it would take a little bit more than usual to push the envelope but it wasn't necessary the case. He simply needed to plant the seed.
Howard Bernstein was going to fulfill his client's request. There was only one target he had in mind to do it. Howard Bernstein always got his man.
Jaggeroth had just turned Dominik Santiago inside out with a overly stiff clothesline and was preparing to lift him high up into the air. The flaming casket beneath them and with the victory in sight, the then leader of Legion was getting ready to take the match home. The roar of the crowd was cheering for their sacrifice like the Roman Coliseum. What exactly were they fighting for? It was as barbaric as dog fighting. It was probably why people scoffed when you said you were a fan of “professional wrestling.”
The Ultra-Violent Death Match was about to put the same dramatic exclamation mark on their match. With ten feet between them and the concrete floor, Kahlan had Metal Dragon in a shopping cart and was about to take the man straight to concussion city. Kahlan, in her own regard, had so much more to offer in an artistic capacity. Metal Dragon, starting in the business as a disciplined martial artist, was now the uncrowned king of hardcore. How many hours had they devoted to this hobby, for lack of a better term? Other than the small group that observed the spectacle what had their efforts afforded them in the real world?
In Howard's mind it didn't matter if this is what these people wanted to do for a living. It didn't matter to him if it was their passions. To Howard, he was William Wallace looking to lead his people to freedom.
For a nominal fee, of course.
Just a nominal fee.
End of Thread.
Sources:
Full Circle: Tyrant's Roulette - Santiago vs. Hayden vs. Millson vs. Jaggeroth
Ultra Violent Death Match - The Heartbreakers vs. Stone Orchard
Total Carnage: Hardcore Cell - Ryan Hughes vs. Blaine vs. Daniel Throne vs. Trickshot
Sprawled across his coffee table and the carpet beneath it were a number of labeled DVDs, tapes, and USB sticks. The room had barely altered from the week prior. The three televisions were still set up across the dresser and the bed was still stationed parallel to it and the wall. Despite the small alterations, the room looked meticulous. There didn't seem to be a speck of dust in the room and although one could argue it looked cluttered, it was apparent there was a method to the madness.
Howard, however, seemed more interested in the happenings on the TVs.
Howard Bernstein:
“... Mmm. Mhm, mhm. Why yes I could see it that way...”
“... Mmm. Mhm, mhm. Why yes I could see it that way...”
Howard was pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table with his eyes transfixed on the images before him. Despite being presumably cooped up in his hotel room for the past number of days Mr. Bernstein looked as professional as ever. His typical black suit was perfectly set-up, as was his black skinny tie in a Windsor knot against his white dress shirt. It was like driving a Ferrari in downtown Oakland.
What appeared to be the most noticeable in all of the tapes across his coffee table was the eclectic selection he seemed to have. A good majority of them had masking taped labels reading everywhere from the obvious of GHW and EVPW to the more obscure and incredibly difficult to find like ASWF, SCW, and EWE, to name a few. It was only the surface. The list of closed and destroyed companies was near infinite. They were searching for a hypothetical needle in a haystack.
Where he seemed to get those from, of course, was a brilliant question.
Howard Bernstein:
“... No, no. I don't see the appeal, per say.
Those tights? Frankly, he couldn't draw even if we canned his lines...”
“... No, no. I don't see the appeal, per say.
Those tights? Frankly, he couldn't draw even if we canned his lines...”
The man in question, obviously, was on Howard's other line. Together they were searching for something horribly specific. There were hours upon days upon weeks of footage they've already ran through and there seemed to be less and less appeal as they searched. This one's charismatic but too fat. That one is athletic but “TV Ugly”. Those ones are attractive but in a heroin addict sort of way. What they were looking for was the one that broke the mold. The unimaginable.
The sound of the bell rings from the first television set-up to Howard's left. Mighty Man Millson was on his way down to the ring following Dominik Santiago getting the first pin on Hayden in their Tyrants Roulette Match. To Howard, the match was fine. Realistically at this point he could find flaws in everything. Every suplex, every chair shot, every drop kick, none were good enough. He wasn't looking for that, though. Wrestling was on the back burner.
He was looking at the people behind it all. Gimmicks, he was told, was what they were called. It was strange to him. It was like if Anthony Hopkins acted as if he was Hannibal Lecter but year round. These people were involved in the most self deprecating form of method acting.
Howard Bernstein:
“I'll consider it if we're looking for yet another “psychopath”. Fair?
... HA HA!
Yes, yes! I'm sure we could swing it...”
“I'll consider it if we're looking for yet another “psychopath”. Fair?
... HA HA!
Yes, yes! I'm sure we could swing it...”
The strongest trait he noticed was how everything was so generic in the wrestling world. It was as if there were only so many characters you could perform as and if you didn't fit one of the options you were driven out. It was fascinating. It was a business where you were told from day one you could manipulate the crowd in the palm of your hand, yet no one knew how to do it.
The crowd from the middle television were beginning to drown out to the two to either side of it. Metal Dragon of Stone Orchard, with a thumbtack chair in hand, directs Kahlan to pick up the barbed wired bat during their infamous Ultra Violent Deathmatch. This match was noteworthy for a number of reasons, especially the use of over the top explosives. It was both a productive hardcore match and a parody of death match wrestling in one nicely packed box. Stone Orchard, Howard could see, had the star power. But what else? What, exactly, did they bring to the table?
They offered more than he cared to mention, that much he knew. They could go from the roles of comedy to dramatic and serious on a dime. They knew how to deliver. There was a talent there. Remove it all, though, and they were the same as everyone else.
Howard Bernstein:
“... Mmm. No. Definitely not. That's the thick of Hollywood already and you know it. Baby, we want something unique. We're looking for that STAR...
... Yet everything here? How vanilla...”
“... Mmm. No. Definitely not. That's the thick of Hollywood already and you know it. Baby, we want something unique. We're looking for that STAR...
... Yet everything here? How vanilla...”
That, of course, wasn't exactly true. The biggest problem, Howard was fit to concede, was he saw the potential of nearly everyone across the companies. He needed to find one who was so uncomfortable in their own skin that they changed themselves everywhere they went. He needed to find someone who lacked all the confidence and brought themselves down to everyone's level. Who, was the million dollar question.
The Ryan Hughes' of the world were an interesting case. As early as his 2009 Hardcore Cell main event at Total Carnage it was evident. Although Blaine, Daniel Throne (an early prospect, one could argue), and Trickshot were also in the match it was clear to see his potential. On the third television Ryan had just missed a spear on the former CEO of GHW and was being put in the camel clutch. He was green but had all the tools one could argue they'd wanted in a professional wrestler. But only in that of a professional wrestler.
Howard Bernstein was starting to wonder if the “tools” in question were actually a weakness. They were a manufactured list of ideas that the crowd were steered toward, obviously. But what from there? What happened if you were willing to bite the hand that fed?
That, Howard considered, was going to be his golden goose. That was going to be the one he stole and turned into a multi-movie franchise star. Who was going to say no? It was odd, though. There was something missing. Something, or someone, who could really-
Howard Bernstein:
“- Stop there. What exactly do you mean by that?”
“- Stop there. What exactly do you mean by that?”
His representative was no slouch. For a pretty faced, athletic young man he also had a Hell of a brain on him. Howard remembered the first day he walked into his office. He was frustrated, upset, but so terribly driven. It was an interesting display. He projected it was yet another wannabe Hollywood star who was the top at what he did but couldn't cut it in the real world. Yet he possessed a certain quality that no one else did. He was a victim of circumstances, really. A man who was headstrong and determined but shoved in the basement despite-
Wait. That was it, wasn't it? It was right in front of him. His client was telling him just what he was figuring out. Howard had to go in and take the broken, the beaten, and disgraced and flip them before shoving them down EVPW's own throats. However, he didn't exactly want to make it as sour grapes against the company. Realistically he couldn't care less what happened to them. If he could take them down in the process? Call it another notch on the belt. The very person he was looking for was almost pleading for his attention.
Howard Bernstein:
“Do me a favour. Hang tight, would you baby?
I forgot I had a terribly important call to make.
Yes, yes. I'll call you back as soon as I'm done.”
“Do me a favour. Hang tight, would you baby?
I forgot I had a terribly important call to make.
Yes, yes. I'll call you back as soon as I'm done.”
Howard pressed the button at the side of his Bluetooth connected to his ear and stood for a second to collect his thoughts. Staring almost through the flat screen projections in front of himself, Mr. Bernstein realized he had to work his magic once again. You could argue it would take a little bit more than usual to push the envelope but it wasn't necessary the case. He simply needed to plant the seed.
Howard Bernstein was going to fulfill his client's request. There was only one target he had in mind to do it. Howard Bernstein always got his man.
Jaggeroth had just turned Dominik Santiago inside out with a overly stiff clothesline and was preparing to lift him high up into the air. The flaming casket beneath them and with the victory in sight, the then leader of Legion was getting ready to take the match home. The roar of the crowd was cheering for their sacrifice like the Roman Coliseum. What exactly were they fighting for? It was as barbaric as dog fighting. It was probably why people scoffed when you said you were a fan of “professional wrestling.”
The Ultra-Violent Death Match was about to put the same dramatic exclamation mark on their match. With ten feet between them and the concrete floor, Kahlan had Metal Dragon in a shopping cart and was about to take the man straight to concussion city. Kahlan, in her own regard, had so much more to offer in an artistic capacity. Metal Dragon, starting in the business as a disciplined martial artist, was now the uncrowned king of hardcore. How many hours had they devoted to this hobby, for lack of a better term? Other than the small group that observed the spectacle what had their efforts afforded them in the real world?
In Howard's mind it didn't matter if this is what these people wanted to do for a living. It didn't matter to him if it was their passions. To Howard, he was William Wallace looking to lead his people to freedom.
For a nominal fee, of course.
Howard Bernstein:
“Hi, yes. I would like to make an appointment with the office of Devin Bozz.
No. Just tell him Bernstein will be stopping by.”
“Hi, yes. I would like to make an appointment with the office of Devin Bozz.
No. Just tell him Bernstein will be stopping by.”
Just a nominal fee.
End of Thread.
Sources:
Full Circle: Tyrant's Roulette - Santiago vs. Hayden vs. Millson vs. Jaggeroth
Ultra Violent Death Match - The Heartbreakers vs. Stone Orchard
Total Carnage: Hardcore Cell - Ryan Hughes vs. Blaine vs. Daniel Throne vs. Trickshot
