Mark Force vs Apollo King

[Maximilian Price (Co-Owner)]

You Two RP here

[Apollo King]

(We open up inside College Park, Maryland inside a local night club called Looney's Pub. As he sits at the bar he's joined by AWF Interviewer Andre Bling.)

Andre Bling - Before we start allow me to say thanks for joining me Mr. King.

Apollo Creed - Just get to your questions. I see many fly bitches up in here and this Nigga about to make it rain.

Andre Bling - Well alright. The AWF officially released the card booking for Freedom on February 21st. And you'll be facing the "King of Old School" Mark Force. Your thoughts on him?

Apollo Creed - First off "Old School", that there tells me he's played out and not with whats happening today. While I'll attempt to execute a moonsault. He'll try what an Armbar? Poor Mark Force will find out real quick what Apollo King is all about.

Andre Bling - Well considering the two of you are rather close in size, what advantage do you think you'll have?

Apollo Creed - Size? You might wanna ask his girl if we're close in size, I'm sure she'll give you a totally different story.

Andre Bling - Uhh..

Apollo Creed - Take it easy Bling. I'm just speaking facts. Come the 21st Mr. Force will face a "Force" unlike nothing he's never seen. So Mark get ready boy. Feb 21st shit gets real!!

[Fade out]

[Mark Force]

“Return of the King” 

act i 

Day1 

We open to Mark Force. He is not a handsome man. Think Kenny Powers...just older, uglier, and fatter. He is in an empty auditorium, standing onstage in front of a video camera. 

MF : When you are a young, fit, charismatic wrestling prospect...the world is your oyster. Girls, clothes, cars, money...it’s all at your fingertips. At the height of my popularity, I turned down movie offers and 7-figure paychecks to endorse shitty cars and clothes. I wouldn’t even turn down a cheeseburger right now if one of you motherfuckers offered it to me. No one’s knocking at my door… 

God dammit. Ain’t nobody gonna offer me a damn cheeseburger? Shit. 

Mark tries to intimidatingly point at the camera. 

MF : No one’s knocking at my door these days. No one cares about Mark Force anymore. I can't even get on one of those...Legends of Wrestling tours with the old, washed up fat guys. They’re touring with guys like “Big Bubba” and the “Honky Tonk Man”, but Im just sitting at home masturbating to my World of Warcraft character. I was a world champion! I beat those guys! Over and over! 

Mark is yelling, and spit is stuck in his unkempt beard. 

MF : I may be a few years removed from my last World Title reign...but, I’ve still “got it”, ain’t that right Cena?!? 

Mark grabs one of those John Cena Brawlin’ Buddies 

Cena : WORD IS BORN, SON! MY BOY MARK FORCE COULD BE WORLD CHAMPION OF ANY COMPANY IN THE WORLD. RIGHT NOW. WWE? XWA? AWF? RING OF HONOR? WEAK, SON!  

MF: Whoah whoah. Calm down, John Cena. I know we’re best friends and all, but you’re gonna have a heart attack. We both know that Im the best shit, ever. Once we finish this tape, and deliver it to AWF Headquarters...they won’t be able to hold me down any longer. STRAIGHT TO THE TOP, BABY! Hit it! 

Mark runs off camera, and hits play on a tape deck. He and the John Cena Brawlin Buddy start a strangely well-choreographed dance number to “Wreckin Ball” by Miley Cyrus. Somewhere in the middle, the camera runs out of batteries. 

Day 2 

We open to the outside of AWF Headquarters. Mark Force and and the “John Cena” Brawlin’ Buddy enter through large rotating doors. Mark walks up the the reception desk, and is greeted by a pretty, young, blonde receptionist.  

MF : Good morning, young lady. I, of course, need no introduction...but this is my good friend John Cena. 

Receptionist : Ummm...I don’t have any money. Or food. If you don’t leave, Im going to call the cops. 

MF : No no, princess. You misunderstand. I am here to deliver this tape to your boss.  

Mark hands her a VHS tape. 

Receptionist : What the hell is this? And why is it all orange? 

MF : Cheetos, pretty lady. Im trying to watch my figure, but John Cena loves his cheetos. He was carrying the tape earlier, must have rubbed off. 

Receptionist : So, this thing is like a DVD? 

MF : Who do I look like...the fuckin’ Honorable Philip Banks, from TVs Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? I can’t afford to record video to DVD. 

Receptionist : Well, everyone is busy. Apollo King is here, and they’re trying to work out a contract. It’s a big deal. 

MF : Apollo KING? I am the only KING.  

Receptionist : I thought you said your name was Mark-John Cena or something. 

MF : Little lady, I am not one of those dudes who is afraid to hit a woman. I’ve hit two...to three hundred women in my life. 

The receptionist gives Mark the finger. Mark charges with a clothesline attempt. The receptionist ducks….AND KICKS MARK IN THE GUT….STONE COLD STUNNER!! Mark is out cold on the floor. Security drags him out of the building. As Mark regains consciousness, he starts to yell at the building. 

MF : THAT WAS A LUCKY SHOT! COME BACK OUT HERE PRETTY BLONDE LADY!  

Mark stomps around like a maniac for a few minutes before yelling at the building again… 

MF: APOLLO KING! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! 

Mark gets hungry, so, he runs to the nearest McDonalds and picks up 5 Big Macs. When he returns to AWF headquarters, he has one of those big white posterboards with a message scrawled across in terrible handwriting. 

APOLLO KING SUCKS 

Mark pickets around the front door for a few hours. As the bright sun fades...and the night sky looms...the pretty young blonde receptionist comes waltzing out the front door. 

MF : Got a lotta nerve showing your face around here, honey. Lucky for you, my fibromyalgia is acting up. Otherwise, I’d run over there right now and put you to sleep with my sleeperhold. Shit is so fuckin’ hardcore. I’ve gotta register my hands as weapons in each new city I visit. 

Receptionist : Shut up, dude. Im only out here because Max Price told me to give you this. 

She hands him a piece of paper. 

Receptionist : It’s a one-day contract. He needs some cannon fodder for his new prized wrestler, Apollo King. He saw your fat ass out here whining like a baby, and decided you’d be perfect. Apollo King will crush you. Heres a pen. Sign. 

MF : I want 500,000 American dollars. 

Receptionist : You can have a hotel room, $20, and a buffet dinner on the evening of Friday Night Freedom. 

MF : Will there be nachos? 

Receptionist : Uh, yeah. 

MF : Then you got yourself a deal, pretty lady. You drive a hard bargain...but, I just want to get on tv and whoop some ass. Oh, and eat free nachos of course. 

Mark signs the contract. 

Receptionist : Great. Try not to die of heart disease before then. 

[Mark Force]

“Return of the King”  

act ii 

We open to a Burger King in downtown DC. Mark Force has a megaphone. Children are crying. Women are throwing up at the mere sight of this 250 pound oaf, screaming obscenities at no one in particular.



MF : I AM THE KING OF OLD SCHOOL. MARK FORCE, EVERYONE.



Mark’s holds up his John Cena Brawlin Buddy..



Cena : YO YO YO, THAT’S RIGHT, SON! Apollo King, you gots 60 seconds to show yo’self. Otherwise, we tearin’ this mug down!



MF : TO THE GROUND.



Mark high-fives the doll. A Burger King employee comes out of the establishment.



BK Employee : Uhhh...sir. Ive been told by management to offer you these three burgers, and ask that you go home...or wherever it is that you sleep. Trailer. Park Bench. I don’t know.



MF : While I will take these three delicious burgers from your wonderful eatery….I am offended that you think Im some sort of crazy homeless man.



BK Employee : You’re in a raggedy, smelly, white tee with sweatpants….yelling in front of a burger king at….no one in particular.



MF : I may be wearing sweatpants, but dude...I’m yelling at someone very in particular. I know Apollo King is in there right now strategizing with the alleged “Burger” King. As a King myself, I know how important it is to get the other Kings on your side.



BK Employee : The Burger King is just a name...there is no King here...Apollo, Burger, or otherwise…



MF : I see where this is going...NARC. Listen here...Apollo King will show himself or I’ll burn this bitch down.



BK Employee : Literally or figuratively?



MF : I ain’t got time for this. BOOM!



Mark spins the kid around, and locks in “Old School Cool”....a VICIOUS FULL NELSON.



MF : Go to sleep you little son of a bitch. Mmm. You smell, delicious. Im sorry that it had to come to this. I didn't wanna have to break your neck.



Crickets chirp.



BK Employee : Umm...sir? Could you let go of me? And, stop sniffing me. I NEED AN ADULT!



MF : Who trained you? WAS IT APOLLO KING? My Full-Nelson hold is the stuff of legend, you should by dead by now.



BK Employee : Dude...Im only mildly inconvenienced by this hold. And, who the hell is Apollo King?



MF : I know right? He sucks so bad. Wait. You mean, you don’t feel yourself drifting out of consciousness?



BK Employee : The only way this could knock me out is if I get another whiff of your disgusting body odor. Its like a mix of….ranch dressing, and bacon, and nachos, and….and….ass. Sweaty...foul...ass. With more ranch.



The employee goes limp....passing out from the vicious stench.



MF : That’s right bitches! I was a little rusty at first, but, the King is back!



Mark raises his arms in triumph...and everyone in a 10ft radius throws up their lunch. Mark gives them all the finger, and then takes a bottle of ranch dressing out of his sweatpants pocket. He pours it over the fallen Burger King employee, and spells out AWF.



MF : C’mon Cena, we need to go train!



Mark starts to jog away, shadow boxing along the way. 23 feet later, he doubles over. Out of breath.



MF : Holy shit, Cena. I need some hot pockets. That was a good training sesh.



They high five...like two totally heterosexual best friends.

Many hours later 

Cena : Yo, dawg. That’s a lot of Hot Pockets. I’m worried about you, my dude. You ate so much ranch dressing, it’s not a “hidden” valley anymore, yo. I don’t think you’re supposed to drink it.



MF : SHUT UP, CENA!



As he yells, ranch dressing and hot pocket juice sprays everywhere. We hear a knock at the door. The camera pans out and we see Mark is wearing nothing but his stained tighty-whities. He plods over to the door like a fat piece of shit. He has to kick pizza boxes, snack pack wrappers, and Hot Pockets packaging out of the way to reach the door. Mark pulls open the shitty door to his shitty apartment, and a handsome man in a suit stands before him.



MF : Ooooh, wheee. Is it my birthday?!?



Mark tries to grab the man’s junk.



Lawyer : Whoah. Hold up there. I work with AWF. Im one of their lawyers. They sent me to find you.. Do you want to get dressed?



MF : Oh, my bad, handsome. Lemme slip into something a little more comfortable.



Mark puts on a wife-beater (stained of course) that barely covers his chest. His bulbous hairy belly is exposed.



MF : What can I do ya for? *wink*



The man pukes.



MF : Oh, thats okay...happens all the time. Just pour some baby powder and a towel on it.



Mark pours baby powder and towel over the vomit.



Lawyer :*Clears throat* Mark...I dont know how to tell you this, so Im just gonna say it like an asshole. Dude. Fuckin’ cool it with the antics. You can’t attack a Burger King employee and then pour ranch dressing all over him. You especially cant spell out AWF in said ranch dressing. What the fuck, dude? I need you to record a video. Apologize, and make sure you mention that AWF had NOTHING to do with it.
We don't condone behavior like that in any way.


MF : Anything for you, Hungrybuns. Im glad to be working with you.



Lawyer : You aren't even an employee! We’re only paying you 20$, and putting you up in a hotel so that our badass new talent, Apollo King, can kick your ass. You are cannon fodder. You are what we call a jobber. I've watched your videos on YouTube. You used to have skill. Your style, while a bit out-dated, was great! You beat a lot of tough opponents. When Apollo King hits you with with that legdrop from the top rope...he’ll cement his place as a guy to be feared. His victory will help put AWF on the map. You’re out of shape, Mark. You look like shit. You probably wrestle like shit. I doubt you'll make it 2 minutes into the match before passing out. Just don’t have a heart attack and die. I need him to beat you clean.
Then, you can have a heart attack and die.


MF : Say what you want, sweetcheeks. I may have gained a little weight, but I...


Lawyer : Your bio says 250...You were 225 at your prime. There is no way your fat ass is anything under 275.



MF : Fair enough. But I carry it well! Look...I may have gained a considerable amount of weight...but Im still the King of Old School. You remember ol’ Dusty Rhodes? He was fatter than I am, but when he got inside those ropes...he turned into Superman. I hate this idea that you have to have a great physique to be a talented wrestler. Guys in the 70s and 80s made themselves famous without the abs. Without the high-flying moves. Those guys paved the way for guys like me. Ive held countless belts with my old-school hip tosses, and headlocks. My full-nelson has sent young, sweaty, muscled up dudes to the hospital. Getting a little bit out of shape didn’t make me forget how to do all the awesome shit I used to do. Getting older didn’t make me any less capable of kicking ass. I’ll prove it to you, Ill prove it to Apollo. Ill prove it to the fucking world.



Lawyer : Look, if hell freezes over, and if you win...Boss told me my #1 priority will be to keep you in line. I will cease my regular duties and begin watching over you to make sure you don't make the company look foolish. This is an important time for us. We’re new. We don't want some asshole going around beating up fast food employees, fighting women and children, and doing other dumb shit to get us a lot of negative publicity. I like being a lawyer. I dont like being a babysitter. I really don’t want that job, Mark. I love wrestling. I used to love watching you wrestle...but I don't want that burden. Lose. Please. Ill pay you TEN THOUSAND dollars. I sincerely believe you’re done in this business...but if I am somehow wrong, and you get a few lucky shots in, I don’t care…. but, at the end of the match he’d better get the 1,2,3. Don’t think about it. Do it. It’ll save both of us a lot of time.



MF : 10 thousand American dollars?



Lawyer : That’s right. Here’s the check...post dated for February 22nd. Lose, and you can take that shit straight to the bank. Im out of here. See you in 9 days.