Our Tommy Drake scene opens up with a clear majestic view of a hill. Yes, I did say a hill. Why do I say a hill? Because that is the setting. Simple as that. No questions asked. The hill's fine paved road extends past view and toward the camera like a speeding train except its not moving. So how does that make sense? I don't know. This promo's in Canada. The air's got me all out of whack. Just kidding folks. Canada's a great country. Slowly approaching from the other side of the hill is a white 1996 caddilac, its large speakers blaring Rob Zombie "Dragula" original mix. Its ever mysterious driver head bangs in the car, his left hand lightly holding the wheel as he appears to flip a switch and the car switches to shock drops, insueing much hilarity. Go ahead, just imagine Shock drops to Rob Zombie! Isn't that ludacris? Ok it isn't.
Tommy: "Just hurry up already man."
Oh yeah! Anyway. The car slowly drives forward, the car going slowly as to not completely destroy his car. The camera shot zooms in on the driver to be non other then Tommy Drake! Surprise! Adorned in a casual blue T-shirt and some dark blue jeans the first Certified Badass of CCW rolls up to the camera as he slowly pulls over. The sound of Rob Zombie dying out at the mere twist of a key. The buckle loosen and raises up to rests by his left shoulders as he opens the door and stands up from his seat. A long yawn comes across his face as he stretches his arms high up into the air and low toward his feet, which happen to be wearing those Lugz driving shoes you hear Funkmaster Flex rant about all the time in those Lugz commercials. He quietly gases off into the distance, his facade not much like that cocky almost hyper active disorder affected innovator that he's shown so far.
Tommy: "You know, sometimes a certified badass such as myself just likes to relax. To cruise the highways with my Rob Zombie blaring and without a care in the world. To view the pastures, all the stuff that most of my guys won't admit to the fans until you chip out the sixty dollars just to see us mid row or twenty dollars so you and your kid can go see your weekly heroes for a Tuesday night. But for all my big words, my cocky attitude I'm happy to say I'm grateful I get chances to relax and to entertain you people. I mean I know what it's like. Sure I lived on a farm all my life and if I ever had a biopic about me it would be called "40 mile" or "Far From Twin Cities" but that point across I need to address a special lady in my life."
Tommy: "No you idiot. I was referring to you know one of my opponents this week. Natoli. You see Natoli, I bust a few rhymes to lighten the mood and entertain the crowd who's appearing to love it and look what you do. You go off and run your mouth without thinking of what your saying. So what if I can freestyle rap. Are you really the one to judge on how good those skills are? I mean I do it for fun. I'm not expecting some big reaction out of it. As for the body of Mark Whalberg well hun, you obviously set your sights low. As for this Triple Z, or was it Triple A? No matter. This guy you ranted about having a big head. Well I must say it sucks to be him. He needs a reality check. Oh wait, you're relating him to me. That's just funny. Because I think your confusing my confidence with blatant ego. I'll admit it, I'm a little cocky. Ok "a little" is an understatement but after defeating Mrs. McCormick's hubby over there you can't deny I can back it up."
Tommy rolls his neck out. He quietly slams his right fist into his open left palm, grasping it tightly as it makes a small "smack" sound upon it. His baby blue eyes glance off toward the evening sun as he leans against the left side of his car, slowly regaining his sense from zoning out as he grabs his water bottle from the inside of his car and takes a quick sip before placing it on the roof of his car.
Tommy: "Natoli, oh dear Natoli. You see for a woman who seems so honest and so down to earth I can't understand why the fans boo you. Hell maybe I'm wrong that they don't boo you, I only caught the actual match, no your entrance. But none of that matters to me. You can go ahead and insult my intelligence. Makes no difference to me. Still means your going to lose. As for you I think the main problem with me understanding your derivative of english is because you keep having the camera focus on your body instead of your face. I mean seriously. I'd hire a new camera man to shoot your stuff since seriously, as your opponent and fellow wrestler of Canada Championship Wrestling you should you know, focus on saying something more important. Do you think that the fans are actually entertained watching you rant to Switches old lady? At least my crazy adventures happen by accident or in a few cases actually have some meaning to the match. Like I could of gone to a whore house and shot the promo but I'm afraid I might of traumatized you and my fans when I ended up finding your mother there, hard at work. Oh, and before you go calling me "backwoods" or "Steve Martin" maybe you should take a good look in the mirror. If I'm backwoods then your surely a proud resident of North East Arkansas. Pronounced "Arch-Can-Sass" in your case. As for desperately trying to pull a Steve Martin in Bringing Down the House? Please, the movie was ok but I was more so going for Steve Martin from early Saturday Night Live. You know, one of the wild and crazy guys? Next time make sure you don't confuse desperately attempting to imitate a comedic genius with me verbally smacking with an iron gauntlet and still giving the fans something to enjoy after listening to your poor excuse for trash talk."
Tommy grabs a hold of his water as he gulps it down and lets out a refreshing "ah" sound. You know, the sound people make in those Soda commercials where after drinking the soda they exaggerate how good it really is by saying "ah". Erm...anyway. Tommy sets the water bottle down and runs a hand through his scruffy brown hair.
Tommy: "You know for a woman who is a self proclaimed bitch you can't seem to take talk very well. I figure I can say those mean and hurtful things to you because you called yourself simply "a bitch". Might as well start treating you like one now shouldn't we? And let me be the first to admit that you don't need to see a psychologist. You need to see a psychiatrist to really get over that whole "bitchy mood twenty-four seven" thing you've got going. Doesn't work too well when trying to get a keeper. As for how I purchase my drugs, I don't use any aside from those cold tablets I but at dollar general. As for missing that one part about your father setting up an appointment. Well when I first watched your promo I pretty much missed all of it. I mean your just so boring and have this tendency to drag on without showing even a smidgen of charisma. So luckily I taped it and forced myself to watch it again. I just skipped over all that crap that you had in your promo which ended up being about 95% of it."
Tommy gives his sexy and cocky little grin to the camera as he stares out at the plain pastures. He hops backward onto the hood of his car, staring off into the serene pasture's are the clouds slowly cover the sun. He gives a light sneeze as he shakes his hand of the moisture and rubs it along the knee of his jeans. He stares off, still speaking.
Tommy: "In the end I really hope I am underestimating you. Because so far you've shown me nothing to even consider too much of a threat at all. Your a cruiserweight and your a bitch. Seems like that's all you have going for you right now. Sure when you start actually showing Tee Drake some skill then I'll grin to myself. You want to know why I'll be grinning? Because I know that I'm going to win this match with at least a fight from you hun. I enjoy when my opponent gives me a struggle. I thrive on competition. That's how I've became so good. I'm a man who's faced great wrestlers and have beaten them or made them run for their money. Only because they couldn't keep up with me or in some cases my partner in crime Russell. Tomorrow Miss Natoli I'm really hoping you can at least show me some of those skills you think your posses. Make truth upon some of that trash you've talked. The same goes for Big OS. Come bring your evil "game" and see if you can show me skills. Then again in your current mental state I'm fearing that you'll not even be able to make it to the ring before the drowsiness from your antidepressants kicks in and you'll be counted or maybe on of the camera guys will toss you in the ring and prop you up in a corner just so Natoli can attempt and beat me."
Tommy gives a little smile as he hops off the hood of his car. He peers out into the distance as he moves over near the driver's door to his caddilac, grabbing the bottle of water and closing it tight. He grins as he slowly opens the door to his car and sits in his fine leather interior. He sorts through the mess of wrestling gear and mint condition Star Wars action figures littered over the back seat as he finds his shiny N.E.R.D cd as he slowly turns on his car. It gives off a light "humm" sound before it becomes nearly soundless. He turns down the volume on his cd player as he turns it off. Changing Rob Zombie "Hellbilly Deluxe" for N.E.R.D as he looks out the window to the camera. Slowly "Rockstar" kicking in as he leaves some last words.
Tommy: "Natoli, all I ask is actually show me some skills. Just remember this. Doesn't matter if you do or not, your still going to lose. It isn't me underestimating you. It's your own actions telling me everything I need to know. Sleep well tonight, dreaming those Natoli Ayn Thorne dreams. Maybe they are about Switch? Maybe they are about your father? Or maybe they are about me. Who knows what you choose to fantasize about or end up having nightmares about. But tomorrow, prepare to be certified."