A good ol'-fashioned ****-talk promo

[DWoods]

(FADE-IN:

Naw… you think we’d start out **** out like that? With a *****-made “fade” transition?

Think again.

Think for all those Asperger’d, alcoholic, ass-lovin’ plumbers out there, graspin’ a forty, stone-cold grip. Unscrewed, tossed-away cap. Brown bag soaked with condensation. It’s HOT.

Oh, ****—this is a scene, whut? Blue jeaned knees, dirt dusted - blood crusted. The camera pulls back to reveal a crouching JOE THE PLUMBER – “that dude,” as he is often referred. That dude that gets way, waaay too drunk on that hard ****—forty of potato vodka, sawed-in-half ice cream container of dandelion wine, and whatever else he can ****in’ fanangle.

Whatever! It’s a work night anyway.

No, no, it isn’t! That’s the issue, is it not? Unemployment. Restlessness leads to recklessness: the pile of chimney rubble in Joe’s living room and his new makeshift ‘skylight’ is proof of that.

“Idle hands…” Joe mutters, wringing his conveniently taped hands together, shaking his head. His eyes, bloodshot and shifty, betray the pharmacy of uppers, downers, rainmakers, and ****squirters that he's recently injected. More `scripts than an out-of-worker screenwriter.

Now to switch gears. TV format – for all you simple ****s out there:

(CLOSE-UP: Joe’s hands, wrapped with tape. Blood stained knuckles and a spot in the centre of his hand resembling the wounds of Christ.)

JTP: (Joe looks at the camera.) “Ol’ Joe’s been sittin’ home, try’na cure the disease.”

(The Greasy Goblin’s voice is hoarse, his speech noticeably slurred.)

JTP: “I walked away from NFDubya at the peak of my career. **** a paycheck! I may have only been pullin’ twelve-fiddy bi-weekly, along with a sack of premium meats ‘n some other tasty benefits, but I was the BEST! The wrestling world, like a dying cancer patient, clung to the one thing that was keeping it alive—only in this case, it wasn’t some big-shot doctor with a closet full of suppressed faggotry, and a bunch ‘a showoffy college-boy degrees on his walls; it was a PLUMBER who whispered false hope into ears…

“I told’ja it was gonna be alright, knowing full well that it wouldn’t…

“See, I’m not a dependable guy. I never asked to be a ****in’ role model or anything. I didn’t sign ****. News flash! I fix ****ters most days. I get drunk and stoned in my pickup before shows and piss in the shower – and yeah, I know you don’t like standing in a puddle of another man’s piss, Cruise, but I’m the BOUSSE~! and I say: Wade around it, little *****.

“I’m not dependable. I’m not the guy you call if there’s an emergency and you need someone to watch your kid for a few hours… I’ll eat every ****in’ thing in the pantry, leave a floater in your crapper, and if your daughter’s got a set… Ol’ Joe will stay the **** away from her – cause goin’ near her means fightin’ a rape charge, and that… is a time vacuum.

“I’m not a hero. But one way or another, dweeby ****s started cheerin’ my drunken belligerence and superhuman durability. Go on, bash Ol’ Joe in the head, just ****in’ bust the seat off the chair for ****’s sake, do whatever you want to Ol’ Joe `cause he’s a ****in’ pain-toilet and QUEERS GOTTA EMPTY THEIR ASSHOLES OF ALL THAT EDDIE MAYFIELD CUM SOMEWHERE, AMIRITE?

“He ****s with you, so you **** with me, and he goes a little easier next time the tip of his pathetically small cock pushes your **** in.

“A little goes a LONG way.

“But **** Mayfield—I ain’t back `cuz’ah him, and I ain’t back cuz’ah the fans, neither!” (Joe digs in his nose, then nonchalantly wipes the excavated boogie on his pant leg.) “**** hurt feelings! I’m comin’ for that World Title!

“There’s too much **** cloggin’ up the pipes!

“Enter the Plumber: fresh as a ****in’ daisy, with a belly full o’ ciggy beer… walkin’ with that Shaolin strut! Like, does Ol’ Joe gotta take off his belt and lay a whippin’ on you sum’*****es one more gawddamn time before you retards smarten that **** up?

“Y’all are gonna look like a bunch ‘a pig-snouted swine-people when the Workin’ Man is done puttin’ fist t’ face! Shnozz all smashed in, blood drippin’ down, straight BODIED by the BOUSE~!

“Then what, huh? Then what? Oh wait, I know. All the pussies in the locker room will go back to suckling at the teat of Eddie Mayfield; and the ‘fans’ will jump on those damn Interwebz, where they can act like men and pretend they know somethin’ about hard work and determination, and ****-talk Ol’ Joe from 2,000 miles away!

“And then there will be only three worthwhile contenders left:

“JT-****in’-P. UGHHHHHNNNNNNN!

“Castor Vivian Strife—wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

“And Legion.”

(Joe holds the look of sincerity on his face for a moment or two, before exploding into a fit of over-the-top buh-ha-ha-ing.)

“JOKES! Legion’s retardation makes Chesspiece Negro’s host of learning disabilities look insignificant by comparison.

“Naw, I’m talkin’ `bout Impulse, Mister Goody Two-Shoes. Mother****er’s got two shoes; Ol’ Joe’s got ONE!”

(The camera pans down to Joe’s feet: one steel-toed boot; one holey, dirty-as-hell sock.)

JTP: “So, as soon as Tallawinnebago Night happens—and I get through reffin’ that stupid ****in’ match between those two stupid ****in’ ****s—I’m injectin’ this fed with H.

“And then it’s back to the wild ride that was my title reign!

“You can thank me when the mood shifts and NFDubya ceases to be known as ‘that sloppy ***** Joe ****ed ‘n chucked.’

“Daddy’s come home! Look! He’s got his suitcases! Oh ****, maybe he brought us somethin’! Maybe it was just a business trip after all! – No. It wasn’t. I left the slut and went on a bender, spent all my money, and now I’m back `cuz I’m bored and sober… -er.

“I’m still polluted, make no mistake about it.

“Still drankin’ whatever cleaning supplies I find in Burger King bathrooms.

“Still smokin’ three cigs at a time… `cuz smokin’ one at a time makes you a faggot.

“Still not washin’ my hands!

“Still THE MOST DOMINANT DRUG-ADDICTED PLUMBER TO EVER PISS IN YOUR MOUTH AND DEFLECT YOUR RETALIATORY PISS BACK AT’CHA WITH THE SAME BELT I JUST BEAT YA T’ KEEP! YEAH, THAT’S OL’ JOE! THAT’S J-T-P! GOD OF DIRT AND DEPRAVITY! BRINGER OF THE BLACK PLAGUE—NO HOMO (that means I ain’t talkin’ `bout Ruben Ross)! I’M FIXIN’ TO SQUAT OVER THE LOTTA YA; ****’LL RAIN DOWN FROM THE SKY, AND Y’ALL WILL GO RUNNIN’ FOR COVER, BUT SORRY PLAYER—THE PLUMBER’S SET FIRE TO YER SHELTERESESESE! MOTHER****ER’S BEEN PLANNIN’ AND SCHEMIN’, SCHEMIN’… AND PLANNIN’! CAN’T **** WITH ME NO MORE `CUZ I’M IN IT TO WIN IT!

“Now, BEAT IT!”

(Joe points to the exit as we… FTB.)

 

[Justin]

(Eric Dane is WALKING~!)

Eric:
You know who talks too fuckin' much?

(Wink, you know.)

Eric:
Joe the *******ed Plumber, that's who.

(See, I told you.)

Eric:
Too bad he doesn't ever get around to making a point.

(F2B)

 

[DWoods]

(FADE-IN: Joe on the TOILET~!)

JTP versus… some random jobber?

Loser leaves town, howboutdit, faggot?

Then we’ll see if I make a ****in’ point.

By the way, since Ol’ Joe ain’t an active wrastler at the moment, we’ll have to scrap in the streets – I’m gonna make you chug a gallon of rusty nails.

I’ve made a career out of Houdini-ing queers out this fed… might as well start my second stint `ere off right!

(FTB)

 

[Rook Black]

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK putting on a surgical mask. He adjusts blue latex gloves up to his elbows.)

ROOK: "Joe, you dirty, stinky, sunovabich. I'm going to rape you with a firehose and turn you into a damn fountain. I will inject you with enough antibacterial dish detergent that the newly rechristened Joe The Plumbing will blow soap bubbles out of his ears. Children from far and wide will come to see you and ask their parents, `who is the bubble blowing fountain man, mommy?' and mommy will turn to her sweet little girl and say, `That used to be the dirtiest man in the world. He scared a lot of people with his drug addiction and disease ridden body, but he's all better now."

ROOK: "You're pro-wrestling's equivalent of Pig Pen, Joe. And I'm going to see to it that you get clean, get clean, and then I'm going to kill all your pets that have been living on your body like so many ----ing lampreys."

ROOK: "And once I do, you'll just be a kinda chubby dude who once had it all but then decided to take a s--- in his own mouth, and then flushed himself and his future down the tubes."

ROOK: "Once a thing is lost, it can never be found. That high ground you used to have? You don't have it anymore."

ROOK: "By the by, Joe, you are not really in a position to have a loser-leaves-town match, since the last `queer' you `houdini-ed' out of this fed had the initials JTP."

 

[Justin]

[CUT-TO: Eric Dane, waiting patiently on the return of his ever-faithful assistant/lackey/gopher, the venerable Angus Skaaland, to return to wherever it is that they hang out while not on the road for the New Frontier or at home in New Orleans.]

Eric:
Christ... HURRY IT UP JERKWAD!

[As if on cue, Angus walks into the screen.]

Angus:
Yeesh! Take a xanax and relax, wouldja?

[The Only Star eyeballs his adjunct.]

Eric:
Did you get the book?

Angus: [stalling]
Well, first I went to Barnes and Noble, they didn’t have it. Then I tried Borders, they didn’t have it either. I hit up three Wal-Mart’s and a Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, no dice there either.

Eric:
LESS GIBERISH TALKIE-TALK! MORE STRAIGHT ANSWERS!

[Skaaland rolls his eyes.]

Angus:
On the way back, on a whim, I stopped into a Goodwill Store and whaddaya know, they had forty-seven copies.

[The Maligned Motormouth slaps a blown out and broken-spined paperback into his boss’s waiting hands.]

Angus:
There ya go, English to Plumber Dictionary.

[A high-five is exchanged.]

Eric:
YES! Now, to figure out what this ignorant twat is rambling on about!

[Cut.]

[TIME-LAPSE: Forty-seven minutes.]

[Fade this fucker back up.]

[Eric Dane stands happily in front of an NFW logo, these things are apparently everywhere. In his hand is a 4x6 notecard with an ONLY STAR logo etched on the back.]

Eric:
So, ever since I came to the New Frontier I’ve been hearing one name, and one name only. I’ve heard him called the greatest of all time, I’ve heard him called the best homegrown talent that the NFW’s ever produced...

[Smirk.]

Eric:
I’ve also heard him referred to as a low-life schmuck who somehow bulldogged himself into a top spot by sheer force of smell and then managed take his ball and go home right when the NFW needed him the most.

[He pauses, considering.]

Eric: [deadpan]
That name is Joe the Plumber.

Now, I don’t generally give two shits or a quarter-fuck about anybody’s reputation when it comes to the world of wrestling, but the other day I catch him on TV carrying on and on and on and on and the fuck on about nothing.

Kind of reminded me of me, fifteen years ago.

So, I figure, if he’s a big dog, I’ll poke him with a stick a little bit, see what happens. Next thing I know and he’s rambling something right back at me that for the life of me, I just can’t understand. So, I’ve made my trusty sidekick find me the perfect research material, and I’ve spent damn near an hour translating his sad excuse for a promo, and preparing my official retort.

Now, for those of you out there in TV Land with a working nervous system, the following will be my loose translation of Joe the Plumber:

[He pauses, clears his throat.]

Eric: *ahem*
Joe the Plumber versus someone who I’ve never heard of? I’ll call him a “random jobber” because I can’t be bothered to look up his pedigree. Remember, I’m Joe the Plumber, and I’m a big deal around here.

Since you’re obviously a “jobber” and therefor beneath my pay grade, I’m going to challenge you to a gimmick match that’s usually reserved as a Big Deal match to end a feud. THAT’S RIGHT! Loser Leaves Town! This makes sense because like I’ve already said, I’m apparently a BIg Shot around here.

Oh, and because I’m too stupid to sign a contract so I can actually, you know, get paid to do the only thing in the world I know how to do, this obvious Match of the Year candidate will have to take place in some back alley somewhere after I’ve had my fill of low-grade meth and ugly, toothless hookers. It’ll be all the rage on the internet!

[The Only Star raises an eyebrow.]

Eric:
Sesiously. That’s what he said. As for my reply? Welp, here goes:

I’m a wrestler, Joe, and I get paid to wrestle. Now, I don’t mind the occasional Pier Six Brawl, and as a matter of fact I take pride in the fact that I’ve legit beat up a lot of Big Bads over the last couple of decades. What I don’t do, however, is fight for free.

If you think you’ve got the sack to send me packing from the New Frontier before I’ve even gotten myself good and started, you’re gonna have to take the remedial writing courses necessary to learn how to scratch your name across the dotted line to a contract that not only makes you an “active wrestler,” but absolves me from any blowback that might come from me breaking what’s left of your teeth out of your melon head the hard way by grinding my bootheel down your stupid stinking throat.

As for your stipulation, Loser Leaves Town, you’re on Buckwheat, just don’t come crying to me when I take the last little bit of a career that you have left and crush it out like a cigarette right in the middle of the ring.

[The camera pulls back from a middle-closeup to a full shot as Eric smirks to himself, the camera, and everyone watching at home.]

Eric:
Oh, shit, I almost forgot, gotta translate it back into “plumber.”

[He pauses again, composing himself.]

Eric:
Crack pipe, homeless shelter, toilet bowl, dirty needle. Hooker stains, rusty nails, broken glass, second-hand dildo. Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits.

[Smile.]

Eric:
Capiche?

[The Only Star walks off screen as the camera settles on a tight closeup of the book that he had been clutching earlier. The cover read: PLUMBING FOR DUMMIES.]

[End.]

 

[DBrunkGXW]

FADE IN....

Dan Ryan, watching a promo and chuckling...

DAN RYAN: ".... Buckwheat....."

Ryan chuckles again...

FADE OUT.

 

[DWoods]

(IN.)

“How’s it feel? How’s it feel to have people give a **** about your **** for once? Like Ol’ Joe always does, he gets stupid ****s noticed while simultaneously rapin’ them in the ass – no lube.

“Dan Ryan: Shut your ****in’ mouth. No one gives a **** what you find funny. Ol’ Joe thinks the fact you’re still clingin’ to what remains of your worthless career is hilarious, but he doesn’t shoot three second promos laughin’ like a mental patient into the camera. I’ll take some buckwheat, wrap it around my fist, and beat your ****in’ head in, then do the same to any other old geezer that breathes that hard candy mint stank-ass breath in his general direction.

“Eric Dane’s offended by the cuss words I use in my promos. He threw a couple down himself, and if you watch real close… I mean real close… you’ll see that doing so made his fallopian tubes shrivel and ache. He’s not a man; he’s a fake-ass ‘wrastler.’ Hammerlockin’ mother****ers but ya ain’t a cop so quit grabbin’ fellas’ junk! You’re shook by the Greasy Beast – trailerpark’d; playin’ Russian Roulette all by his lonesome, forty of potato vodka in hand… and it’s a ****in’ Tuesday afternoon! **** IT, RIGHT?!



“The reason Ol’ Joe challenged ya to that ridiculous Loser-Leaves-Town scrap, usually reserved for big-money blow-offs ‘n ****, is `cuz… Ol’ Joe doesn’t do ‘the usual.’ That’s why I’m a household name, whether purists wanna admit it or not. Four years ago I crept onto the scene, stinkin’ like a rancid Port-a-****ter, and effortlessly took that TV strap… `course, I had’ta share it with some crossdressin’ queer, attached at the hip like a pair ‘a conjoined twins for a short while, but after I surgically removed that worthless, flamin’ cum receptacle and tossed him to the birds, never to be heard from again, I made that **** worth somethin’. And now it overshadows the Nat’ title… not that that’s an accomplishment or anythin’, but still, I put it on a pedestal… and even though that pedestal’s been slowly descending into a sink hole of ****tiness, it’s still the second most important belt in the sport today.

“You’re. ****in’. welcome.

“Now, again, that… was four years ago…. four years before NFDub was graced by the likes of Eric Dane… or, as I call ‘m, Steve Knox without the ‘I’m Awesome’ clown shtick. See, I wouldn’t go through the ****in’ hassel of tossin’ words back ‘n forth with you for as long as it’d take for this to be labeled a proper feud. The Filth Fiend, from time to time, likes to stick his head out from the cloud of dank ganj smoke that fills his squalorish ****hole, and address the dumb mother****ers en masse.

“You took it upon yourself to fire a few shots my way, and like always, without fail, Ol’ Joe, despite bein’ arthritic as ****, drunk as ****, bobs and weaves and Neo’s the **** out your bullets! And makes you look ****in’ pathetic in the process.

“I’d have done one match with ya… in the streets… out back behind a Burger King; a mutha****in’ dumpster match…” (Shrug.) “But now I’m just gonna take my tools – my wrench and my plunger – and go the **** back to makin’ a few bucks in the plumbin’ trade while I get my ducks in a row and prepare to step back into the ring with names that’ll actually enhance my already mythological legacy.

“While you go back to being Eric Dane.

“Whoever the **** THAT is.”

(OUT.)

 

[LQJT86C]

Letter from C. Strife to Joe The Plumber

Joe,

I have been preoccupied with the business Impulse and I will conclude at Reloaded, so forgive me for not...taking the time to welcome you back.

The frontier changed while you were away. More on that [illegible].

Soon the curtain draws, showtime will begin. We will talk when it's over and settle new business. No matter the outcome. Time and place to be determined by me.

-C

 

[DBrunkGXW]

FADE IN.

Dan Ryan, eating cereal.

DAN RYAN: "U mad, Joe?"

FADE OUT.

 

[Stalker]

(Fade in, Stalker standing behind Dan Ryan eating cereal. Dan Ryan doesn't notice he is there.)

(Fade out.)

 

[DWoods]

(FADE-IN: JTP, seated and looking contemplative.)

JTP: "So, Stalker's the one who's been pissin' in Old Man Ryan's All Bran...

"Keep up the good work, feller."

(FTB)

 

[DBrunkGXW]

FADE IN.

Old Man Ryan. Just a camera and a dream.

DAN RYAN: "That's MISTER Old Man Ryan to YOU, Joe. Also, I don't know what you have against All Bran. It's delicious, and you could time the sunsets and tides by my bowel movements. Any chance we can hear some JTP propaganda over on EWZine like the old days, or did the New Frontier Google AdWords account run out of funding?"

wink. glistening teeth sparkle.

FADE OUT.

 

[Justin]

[The record scratches.]

Eric:
Hold the fuckin' phone!

[The phone is held.]

Eric:
You all heard that, right? The [finger-quotes] "mighty" Joe the Plumber just backed out of a challenge that he laid down and I accepted. I mean, that's pretty telling, amirite?

[Snicker.]

Eric:
Whatever, Joe, whatever. Best I can tell you've made a career on missing the point, and this is just another shining example. You think that just because I like to make a payday for stomping piss-ants like yourself makes me weak? Seriously? And in the same breath you back out of a fight with me?

You're a punk, and you're a pussy.

And just to give you a little history lesson, you ignorant twat, I was retired and inducted into two, count 'em two Halls of Fame before you ever set foot in the NFW. You had what, a good two year run and a good two years of living off your reputation? Bitch I gave up living off of my reputation before your career even started.

Yeah, take your little tools and go get elbow-deep in some fat Mexican's turd-clogged toilet, I'll stay here in the Limelight and continue making six figures while you're lost in the mediocrity that has so obviously defined not only your career, but your life.

Get bent, crackhead.

[Eat a dick.]

 

[DWoods]

(FADE-IN: Joe, half asleep, like he just downed a bottle of Ambien, or was made to sit through an Eric Dane promo.)

JTP: “Fawwwwwwwwwkkkkkkkk… Little Eric Dane tryin’ t’ downplay what I’ve done in NFDubya, while puffin’ up that eight-year-old boy chest of his, yackin’ `bout Hall of Fame this and Hall of Fame that!

“If you’re so ****in’ old, SLIP BACK INTO RETIREMENT! This is a young man’s game – I wouldn’t ****in’ fight ya now, anyway, knowin’ how gawddamn crusty ya are! My fist might explode yer ****in’ skull, just send bits and pieces in every direction, and if I breathe that **** in… I might catch the ****in’ Bubonic plague!

“Listen, I’m `a dumb it on down, `cuz… Ol’ Joe ain’t a smart man and details piss him the **** off… you’re a ****in’ ROOKIE around these `ere parts. Yer job, in case no one told ya, is t’:

“One – Jerk the curtain.

“Two – Jerk Eddie Mayfield.

“And three – Show us that you’re not entirely ****in’ worthless.

“Ya’ve done the first two, and really ****in’ well, I might add!

“But the third… ehhhh… it’s a work in progress… like every one of your butthurt promos.

“I can sit `ere and talk about what *I’ve* done and mother****ers will nod their heads and say, ‘Ya, I remember that ****, JTP is a ****in’ BOUSSE~!’ while you drone on about your failing career and NO ONE GIVES A ****.

“Get it? NFW’s the proving ground. I’ve cannibalized this ****in’ fed for four years, made it my prison ***** and told it to toss my salad, while you were off dropkickin’ retards out their mental chairs! Sorry, ****, but Ol’ Joe ain’t own a projector to play the silent films that capture your LONG `n ILLUSTRIOUS career…” (Snicker snicker snicker.)

“I didn’t back outta ****. You wanna get paid, but I don’t WANT you to get paid. Too many unworthy faggot *****es have made money gettin’ their heads dented up by the Greasy Beast. I’ve had it with that ****. Go and win a ****in’ REAL title before you try and grown man the best ****in’ scrapper this fed has ever seen. As it stands right now, ya’ve got nothin’ I want, `except a mouth t’ shut. But if that means I have to step into the ring and sleep walk my way t’ a forgettable win… meh, I’ll pass.

“Old Ol’ Joe might've. New Ol’ Joe knows better. Nothing t’ gain...

“You can fight Legion. He’s at your level. Both in reputation and skill.

“Or… you can sit at ringside like the wheezin’ ol’ ***** that you are, crank yer hearin’ aid up to fiddy, and listen to what it sounds like when Ol’ Joe steps through the curtain.

“It’s called a reaction, Eric. And I ain’t talkin’ `bout what happens when ya get all confused and accidentally mix up yer pills.

“And finally, I’ll continue to miss whatever point yer tryin’ t’ get across in yer promos, `cuz, OH ****, I only kinda watch the ****in’ things! A whoooooole lot of fast-forward goin’ on! I’ll sit there and watch your World War I buddy Dan Ryan ramble on, but you?

“Ya ain’t worth it. Not a damn bit.

“You’re at the bottom of the totem pole, and Ol’ Joe ****in’ HATES Indian ****!

“Dan Ryan – I can talk **** about him, but at the end of the day, I still wanna fight him between the bells… I still wanna beat that mother****er `cuz, whether I wanna admit it or not, he’s a legend. Same with Hornet. Same with Nova. Same with that ladyboy Sean Stevens. Same with everyone else who I’ve disrespected but respected enough to sign a contract t’ fight.

“You? Aren’t worth my time. You…? Haven’t EARNED the privilege.

“My career may have only spanned four years, but I’ve shoehorned a **** ton into those four years, in the most respected fed in the world. I didn’t come to any of the ****ty places you cut yer teeth, Eric, so shut the **** up.

“You’re here, unretired, `cuz you worked yer whooole ****in’ life to get a shot at the bigs, and now it’s here.

“You’re just salty `cuz I did it with a fraction of the effort, in a fraction of the time.

“I can’t do fractionz or mathz or any `a that big brained bull****… but I knowz what I knowz, and I knowz you’re a resentful old **** who wishes he hadn’t wasted his life toilin’ in the busche.

“Oh well, you’ll be dead soon, anyway, right?

“Fingers crossed that it’s some serious, excruciating cancer ****. Nunna’ that… goin’ peacefully in your sleep ****.

“Remember this as a time you got led into the main event scene, shown around, got to say hi to all the boys, and then was promptly beaten down, pissed on, **** on, and tossed out into the back alley.

“Collect up yer **** and go. the ****. home.

“EASY.”

(Eat a dick? Heheheheheehehehehe. Saying stuff in [brackets] makes it HARD HITTING and EDGY and QUASI OOC.

:-O

Pfft – no lie, I should know, I’ve been doing it for years...)

 

[terence]

fadein on terence

terence: wow why ami not surpresed all the same assholes from this fed 5 years ago when i came here is the same ones here now??? too bad you suffer from the same all rpoblem the fact no one here ever f*cked a woman in their f*ckin lives exept me.

second: and this is not part of the rp baut serouisly we are what 2 days away from 911??

I DONT CARE IF YOU ARE AMERICAN OR IF YOUR PORTO RICAN OR IF YOUR A F*CKING BLACK MAN CAUSE WE ALL LIVE HERE AT THE END OF THE DAY.....*DO NOT* FORGET ON 911 WHAT THOSE INDIAN MOTHERF*CKERS DID TO US THAT DAY!!!!!!!!

NEVER FORGET!!!!!


FADE THE F*CK OUT ASSFAGS

not in chracater to jim katz or jamal russo please pay attention: i have been in this fed since it started in 2008. stalker got a title shot but i never did. why did that faggit get one but not me??

sincerely terence

ROCK OOOOONNNN!!!!!

 

[User Poets]

(FADEIN on the back of the head of some guy. Or girl. You can't tell, because it's covered by a mullet.

Think Joe Dirt's mullet, cross bred with Joe the Plumber's mom's mullet, cross bred with the entire state of West Virginia. Then imagine this mullet eating that mullet.

This is the Cthulu of Mullets.

Why settle for a lesser mullet?

And...)

"Hey... Terence."

Pause.

"Your band sucks."

FADE

 

[Justin]

[The.]

[Only.]

[Star.]

Eric:
You ain't the baws of shit.

[Thumbs up.]

Eric:
Don't even bother trying to convince me that your four years in NFW is what anybody in the universe would consider trail-blazing. It wasn't the eighties, it wasn't even the nineties. It wasn't even the goddamned seventies, Joe, and the seventies sucked.

[Eric Dane is pacing.]

Eric:
I'm glad you decided to stand up and pay the fuck attention, but as is quickly becoming the norm around here, you're wrong. This business ain't a young man's game, you dolt, it's a smart man's game. That is to say, you're generally going to be the one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest from here on out.

Pfft.

Four years? This is the NFW, Joe, it's never really had that grueling of a road schedule. That's gotta be what, seventeen matches? Twenty-two tops? This business, which you so obviously have no interest in being any good at, is all about "What have you done for me lately? And what've you done, Joe? And don't even bother asking me the same, the first thing I did is send that little twat that you shared the TV Title with back underneath whatever trans-sexual rock that he got fucked out from under in the first place. That and beat up a bunch of schlubs, so what I'm seeing right now when I look at your ugly mug is another rung back up the ladder

Now, you can be a pussy just like I said you were and just let me pass you by, or you can ask Eddie Mayfield or Curtis Miles or or Petey Windham or whoever the fuck runs this place if they'll let you borrow your balls for one night and step in the ring with me, let me put my boot in your throat while I climb on up the Ladder past wherever you think you used to be.

[Tsk, tsk.]

Eric:
Until then, go brush yer fuckin' teeth, ya smelly prick.

[Nobody gives a shiz what you did four years after everybody else thought it was neat.]

[Fag.]

 

[terence]

someone contat russo and tell him to f*ckin ban user poters from the forums. rp is one thing but its f*cked up to call out somoenes band pubicly like that. thats taking food off my table motherf*cker.

im gonna say rgith now i really like my place in this fed. its like i dont always show up but when i do? you know it s a big deal an is more like a f*ckin event. wo else in the histyr of the unified feds can say that??

ok FADEIN!!!!

to joe the plumber i have a question. what is your opinion on climate change? im in a platicol science class at suffolk commutnity college and am trying the f*ck to be more sociall y conscience the way dave mustaine is. that motherf*cker can thrash but also can talk about any issue out there. THATS HOW I WANT TO BE!!!!!

rock on

 

[Stalker]

(Terence's band playing on a small television, a steady steam of piss splashing against the screen. Camera switches to Jason Reeves zipping up his fly. Huge grin on his face as the camera fades.)

F#ck Terence and his band.