The scene opens to find us in a room of plain white. Well....mostly. The walls and floor and ceiling? White. Our only splashes of color happen to be a wooden stool upon which Jonathan Andrew Reed sits. Jonathan, or JAR if you will, is looking like a million bucks in with a black sports jacket over a blue silk shirt with a Dallas Cowboys tie around the collar, a pair of black dress slacks, and black leather shoes. Around his waist is the PWT Backyard championship. Indeed against the all-white surroundings JAR is an explosion of color.

He smirks and nods his head. JAR's platinum blonde hair never moving outta place.

My name...

Jonathan paused briefly..

...is Jonathan....Andrew....Reed. All of you sitting at home watching on your computer monitors should learn it now, because you'll all be chanting it later. Ya see I am unlike any other star that has ever walked the hallowed halls of Professional Wrestling Today. I am not like the stars of yesterday promising that they're the stars of tomorrow.

Reed waves a finger no.

Quite the contrary, I am the future and I am here....TODAY!

Another flash of that smirk.

I mean just look at me would ya? I'm six foot tall and two hundred an twenty-two pounds of twisted steel an sex appeal! Guys I'm your girlfriend's wet dream. When she's laying under you moaning? Its really me she's thinking of....When she whispers "I love you"? She has to fight not to add my name at the end....I am everything she wishes you were...

Oh yes ladies an gents, JAR was quite full of himself.

But lets be honest here folks, looks aren't everything in our profession. Oh sure, having the look will get ya foot in the door. But hey sooner or later ya gotta have the skills as well. Ya can't just be all show an no go. And trust me when I say that I am chock-full of "Go".

He nodded.

See I've busted my hump in this business for the last five years. I paid my dues in a hot-bed of professional wrestling known as Wrestling Two Thousand. Down there in San Antonio I stepped into the ring with the greats like Dangerously, Cross, Cain, and other names I don't feel like dropping. Hell I went down to Mexico and won a World title and was so dominant they eventually just stopped calling me to defend. I eventually got a call from the promoter saying they couldn't find anyone to beat me. In his broken english he told me to keep the belt, they were naming a new champion.

Jonathan looks down at the PWT Backyard championship.

Even this championship I have never had the chance to defend.

Shrugs.

That's just how great I am.

Careful JAR or elese ya may pull something patting yaself on the back.

My opponent? Not so much.

A chuckle from Reed.

Phoenix Winterborn? No. I much prefer another name that I've often heard in description of you. What was it....Oh yes, that's right: Wintersnore! Hahahaha.

Now the chuckle was a hearty laugh.

Phoenix you are very much like this room I'm in...

He gestures around.

You're...just plain. Vanilla. A bore. The cure for insomnia. You're talking about eventually taking on Jacob MItchell for the World's Heavyweight championship? Come on now! What have you ever done in this company to remotely be in consideration? Ya had to get some chumpstain to carry your ass to a Tag title reign. An hell that was such a chore for the guy he isn't even bothering to come back.

Jonathan stands up and the camera pans back to keep him in frame.

Why don't you face the facts, chump. You're just here as fodder for guys like me. Every star needs that launch pad into the stratosphere of the business. You? You're that launch pad for me. There's just enough value in your name to ignite the fuse of my PWT career. Once I beat you like a drum in the twilight of twenty-eleven, my career will take off!

JAR grins big.

The world is a stage Phoenix, and I'm the star of the show. You're just the curtain-jerker.

Fade.