(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.)
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.)